


Inside Out

by Chya



Category: CI5: The New Professionals
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-12-30
Updated: 1999-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chya/pseuds/Chya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curtis and Keel get thrown into a brutal prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Brenda for editing and comments and to Kate for help and suggestions.

The two men stared at each other with open hostility across the aisle of the paddy wagon. The tension between them was palpable.

The guards watched them with amusement, waiting for one of them to snap and give them some entertainment. The pair had been caught for smuggling drugs into the country and sentenced to hard labour for a good few years.

The surly American had a permanent scowl on his face that turned into a full-fledged snarl whenever the Englishman looked his way. The Englishman, with his sly smile, stared icy daggers in return.

The guards were good at their job and had the prisoners assessed very quickly. The American could be violent, as the black eye he now sported attested; he had put up a fight even as they had loaded him into the wagon. They were used to his kind, though and the prison facility was geared toward breaking men like him very quickly.

The Englishman was quieter, calmer and coldly polite. He have would have difficulty fitting into his new life, but if he survived the first few weeks then he would bear watching. Prisoners with brains could be very dangerous.

A sudden yell, accompanied by the crash of heavy chains, made the guards leap forward. The American was doing his damnedest to throw himself at the Englishman, but the thick manacles he wore were bolted to the floor and held him back.

One guard sat back in his chair, confident that the prisoner was contained, but the other jammed his rifle against the American's jaw and pushed him back into his seat. The American complied with gritted jaw and flashing blue-grey eyes, promising death to the Englishman, who still sat coldly smiling and unperturbed.

*****

The admitting guard signed in the Englishman, one Samuel Keynes. The prisoner's eyes bored through him, his whole being radiating superiority and the guard mentally marked him for careful observation. If the inmates didn't knock that out of him, then he would make sure that the other guards did.

He waved the Englishman to the side as the only other prisoner was dragged in, struggling. The wagon guards let him go and retreated back outside, but he instantly leapt for Keynes. The attending guards were ready with their coshes. Two sharp blows, one to the back on his knees and the other to his right kidney sent him to the floor. Keynes continued to smile arrogantly as the guards dragged the American back to his feet and held him upright in front of the admitting guard who simply grunted.

One Christopher Reynolds. Violent and abusive. Pretty much the same as ninety percent of the other inmates here. He would make sure the guards nipped that quickly in the bud. An animal could still make trouble if he wasn't shown who was boss from the start.

He waved to the attending guards, indicating they should take both of the prisoners away.

*****

Malone looked at his watch. Curtis and Keel would be in the prison about now and Backup and Spencer would be in their hotel nearby.

He looked at the innocuous lump of crafted metal in front of him, about the size of a coffee mug.

Alone, it meant little. A useless lump of metal hiding miniature wires and circuit boards, with just a tiny keypad to indicate it might be anything more.

A man had died bringing this in to him. It was one half of a super-bomb invented by a team of three scientists. The dead man had been a friend of one of the scientists, Edmund Currie, who had instructed him to bring it to Malone.

According to the specifications that had arrived with the dead man and the lump of metal, it was powerful enough to destroy the United Kingdom and take out a good portion of Northern Europe as well.

A letter had been a part of the package addressed directly to Malone, beseeching him to find the rest of the bomb and destroy it. It explained that anyone who got hold of the other half would almost certainly be able to duplicate the first half.

Currie himself was on his deathbed when he wrote it and according to the courier was already dead. The letter named his co-inventers as Marcus Hayes and Henry Lamont.

Malone leaned back, thinking about Hayes and Lamont. He had worked with them on many occasions in the past and knew them quite well. They had been an integral part of setting up the support services for the fledgling international CI5 team and he had been disappointed when they had chosen to go into the private sector.

That was a good few years ago now and he wished they could see the organisation now. He had kept in touch with them over the years and he guessed that that was the reason that Currie had chosen him to be the recipient of the package.

The courier himself had died of an infected bullet wound just hours after handing the packet to Malone.

Lamont and Hayes had more recently been working for a South American government on a commercial basis, but after a drastic change in the political structure of the country, the scientists had not left quickly enough to avoid being incarcerated. The country was in the midst of political strife which meant that there was a high proportion of international prisoners, either of the political or the gun and drug-running variety.

Malone had tried to gain access to the scientists through both official and unofficial channels, but each time had hit a brick wall. That country's new government had no intention of allowing anyone access to the scientists and rumour had it that the two men had been working on some advanced laser weaponry. Despite the brick walls, Malone had ascertained that Hayes was very ill and, according to a source close to the prison doctor, confined to the medical wing of the prison. But that was the sum total of the information that he had.

He had even tried to find out if the prison doctor might be persuaded to help them out, but the answer had been a resounding negative. Apparently, the doctor was one step away from being struck off for past indiscretions, not to mention terrified of what would happen to him should some tin-pot official in the new regime decide that he was up to something.

Having carefully weighed the risks, Malone had asked Curtis and Keel to go in as prisoners themselves and talk to the men. A theoretically easy assignment in a nice, sanitised prison, but from all reports, the prison in question was notorious for its brutalisation of inmates and even a short sentence turned into a death sentence for many.

And that made the whole mission one with particularly high-risks. Malone turned the metal in his hands. Maybe it was too high a risk for the return it would generate, but then again, were two lives really such a high price if it prevented even the possibility of some egocentric madman from killing and maiming millions of innocent people?

To Malone the answer was easy. But it still didn't stop him from wondering how easy that answer and it's consequences would be to live with.

*****

Sam was shoved into his cell, hard, to land on his hands and knees, the kit he had been given flying over the floor.

"Better pick those up, Keynes," sneered one of the guards. "Your cellmate doesn't like clutter."

Sam looked around him; the cell with its sparse contents was indeed very neat and orderly. This, he could live with. The guards were still standing behind him, so he dutifully picked his kit up and got to his feet, only to have a cosh hit the backs of his hands and send the kit flying again. He winced and shook his hands; the blow had not been hard, but it stung nevertheless.

He bent to pick up the blanket, tin mug and coarse underwear and breathed a sigh of relief as the guards left, laughing.

When he had stored his kit in the meagre space provided, he threw himself on his allocated lower bunk. They hadn't been in this pit an hour and he was already worried about Chris. His partner seemed to be throwing himself into his role with almost suicidal enthusiasm and he had seen the livid bruises already forming in their enforced shower, not half an hour ago. If Chris kept going on like that, then his part of the mission should be fairly easy, if painful.

Sam wondered at the timing of this mission. Chris had been a little quiet for a couple of days before Malone had called them into his office. As they had spent several weeks on uneventful baby-sitting and surveillance duties, Sam had initially thought that a little action would cheer his unusually subdued partner up, but now he was beginning to think he had read his partner all wrong.

They had both come into this knowing that neither one would come out unscathed and with a strong chance that either one, or both wouldn't come out at all. It was such a high-risk operation that Malone had actually given them the choice of accepting the assignment. Neither of them had hesitated, of course, and Sam even recalled laughing at the way his partner had perked up at the prospect of actively doing something.

Now that they were here, though, the reality was that they were on their own with only each other for support and backup. Already, Sam was completely certain that it would be tough on them both. If they had to, which was highly probably given the reputation of the facility, he and Chris would do their damndest to get each other through this. And that, quite simply, had to be enough.

Spencer and Backup would be visiting them both as representatives of the English and American Embassies respectively as often as possible, but with only Saturdays being visitors' day, even for official visits, there was little scope for communication. Bringing in any electronic aids had been out of the question.

A large shadow abruptly interrupted Sam's reverie and he sat up on the bunk, taking stock of the newcomer. He was exceptionally large; nearly seven feet in height, with all the bulk of a wrestler to go with it, although the standard issue bright yellow jumpsuit they all wore no doubt made him seem bigger than he really was.

Sam gulped involuntarily but kept his cool, assessing the individual. Neanderthal was his first impression, with beetling brows and hard brown eyes. His age was difficult to gauge, but from the lines around his eyes and the slightly greying long brown hair, he estimated mid-forties.

The Neanderthal glared at him and Sam nodded politely. "Sam Keynes," he introduced himself without getting up. The man continued to glare at him and pointed at the top bunk.

"Yours," he scowled.

"My apologies," Sam replied without moving. "The guards informed me that I was allocated the lower bunk."

"Move," grunted the big man, moving forward, intimidating.

"Ask nicely and I'll consider it." Sam suddenly found himself hauled up by his collar and rammed against the top bank, the metal edge biting into his back. Foul breath assaulted his nose.

"Move."

Sam gave the man his best menacing stare, a look that normally had colleagues as well as villains running for cover. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." he hissed.

They remained staring each other down for a long moment. Then the large man stepped back, laughing. "I don't like you, Keynes," he said in a strong South London accent, "but you've got balls. Now get your arse in that top bunk, keep your stuff tidy and we'll get along."

"Thank you," Sam replied, straightening his clothes. "And for your information, I'm always tidy."

The big man chuckled and picked up a book. "The name's Paul Shipman, but you can call me Boa."

"As in constrictor or feather?" asked Sam, climbing the ladder to the top bunk and half expecting to be yanked back.

Boa laughed softly and settled on the lower bunk. "I'll leave that to your imagination."

Sam stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking and planning. Before their farce of a trial, he and Chris had agreed that Chris would concentrate on getting himself into the medical wing, while Sam used his more diplomatic skills to try and get to Lamont. Should one of them gain access to the other's target, they were each versatile enough to exchange targets.

They had also agreed that making out that they had issues with one another might well open doors for one where they were closed for the other. Although the fact that Chris seemed to be taking exceptional delight in that particular aspect of his role was another worry, since they had to be on good enough terms to keep in touch without raising suspicion.

Sam shifted on his bunk and turned his thoughts to Lamont. His first objective had to be to find out where he was being kept. To do that, he had to make contact with someone who would know. The guards and officials were out of the question, so he had to find an inmate with contacts. Maybe Boa could point him in the right direction.

Eventually, with his thoughts going in circles and tentative plans worked out, he decided to find out more about Boa.

"What's the book?" he asked.

"I don't like being interrupted when I'm reading," came the growled reply and Sam had the mental image of the big man reading like a child, mouthing each word and struggling to understand the complete sentence.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just curious."

After a few minutes of silence, Boa spoke. "Brave New World," he answered. "Do you know it?"

Sam thought for minute, frowning. "Huxley? Ah, Aldous Huxley, I think. A very clever writer, intellectual, but not to my taste."

"You're surprised," Boa stated.

Sam hesitated, not wanting to be crushed to a pulp by an offended Boa. "You don't give the impression of being an intellectual," he offered.

"No. Around here, it's better that way," Boa said softly. "I get left alone."

"So, you're just a big softy, really," Sam smiled to himself, then jumped as the big man's head appeared suddenly, inches from his own.

"Don't you believe it," Boa whispered menacingly. "The last man in here was carted out with his ribs shattered. He told some of the others I read 'nancy' books. I don't take kindly to people mouthing off behind my back."

"I'll be sure to remember that," Sam told him coolly and returned to his contemplation of the ceiling.

*****

Chris lay on his bunk moaning and trying very hard not to throw up. The guards had not been gentle with their welcome. When they had thrown him on the floor and ordered him to pick his kit up, he'd told them to fuck off.

His reward had been a cosh over the head and several vicious kicks to his abdomen. They had left him lying on the floor, laughing as they left.

Eventually, he'd made his way onto the bunk, though he was still not quite sure how. He had thought his part of the mission was going to be easy; crack a few heads, get his head cracked and end up in the medical wing, easy. He'd figured that he wouldn't have to take much more than was dealt out on the CI5 intensive training courses, or at worst the same kind of punishment that he'd taken in training for the SEALs.

But after the guards had left him semi-conscious in the cell, he had his doubts that when he got there, he would be in any condition to get the job done. If the guards were that casual in inflicting pain, what were they like when they got serious? Or, maybe worse, what were the inmates like? But those possibilities wouldn't stop him from trying.

Like Sam, he had known this was a mission where they were not expected to come out in one piece and with the way he had been feeling recently, that had suited him just fine. He really needed to blow off steam in a big way and had been fighting not to blow up at Sam or anyone else for days. It wasn't their fault, it was just that his wedding anniversary was in a couple of days and every time it came around, he couldn't help feeling angry and guilty. Angry with himself for not preventing the massacre somehow and guilty for surviving it.

When Malone had asked them whether they wanted the assignment, he could have sworn he saw a hint of compassion in the old bastard's eyes.

Chris slowly became aware of a slight figure hopping around in front of him.

"Hey, hey, welcome committee gotcha, huh?" a high, nasal voice asked.

Chris focussed on the blond, fidgeting young man and figured that nobody could be that hyper without being on something. "Go away," he muttered.

"Alvin," the young man told him, looking nervously around him. "Alvin, that's my name."

"Figures. You look like a chipmunk," Chris snorted, taking in the buckteeth and bright hazel eyes.

"You're on my bunk, you know, you should be on the top one, the top one, that's your allocation."

"Bite me."

"Okay, s'okay, I don't mind, we'll swap, but I'm doin' you a favour, so don't forget that, a favour okay?"

Chris didn't deign to reply.

"What're you in for, huh? Bet its drugs, s'always drugs round here. Or guns. Did ya bring any in with ya? Drugs, I mean. That's a favour. A favour for a favour?"

"No I didn't, so fuck off and leave me the hell alone before I rip your fucking face off," Chris snarled at him, satisfied when the young man hopped backwards.

Alvin retreated out the door, "Nah, ya couldn't beat your own grandmother up right now, your own grandmother, but you still owe me."

"Whatever," Chris muttered, listening to Alvin bouncing away. He stretched out painfully and chuckled to himself. He did enjoy a bit of aggressive play-acting.

He wondered how Sam was doing. He regretted being so hostile to his partner during the so-called trial and later, on their way to the prison, but he hadn't been able to prevent letting off just a little of the steam building up within him. At least he knew that Sam would take it as all being part of the act.

*****

Alvin hummed happily to himself. He had another thug as a cellmate that he could add to his private army once he was brought under control. And brought under control, the asshole would be, whether he liked it or not.

Alvin liked being in prison. Here, he was someone to be feared, someone of importance and respected by the guards. Something he could never even have dreamed of in the outside world.

The guards had already asked him to deal with Reynolds and as he never did the dirty work himself, he went to look for Ray.

*****

Chris was minding his own business the next morning at breakfast. He felt bruised and a little stiff, but to him, it was really no worse than the bumps and bruises he got in training. He examined the runny, grey semolina that made up breakfast and wondered if it was even edible. Sam would laugh at that; his partner always joked that Chris was a slob and would eat anything except Kermit, even if it were only fit for pigs.

Looking for a place to sit, Chris saw Alvin walking towards him followed by a larger man with a shaven head. Alvin slipped round him, but the larger man made a point of bumping into him, making his breakfast slop over the side and over the other man's jumpsuit.

"Look what you've done," said the large man slowly and deliberately, his accent placing him as American. "You'd better clean it up."

"Get lost," Chris replied, pushing past with absolutely no intention of kow-towing to anyone; that was Sam's job. But the larger man stopped him.

"When you've cleaned up," he growled.

Chris looked around at the prison guards who were watching. Several put their coshes away and took the ever-present rifles from their shoulders. One or two were smiling. He spotted Sam watching intently, sitting next to a giant of a man.

"Ray, Ray, Ray!" called Alvin nervously. "It's not good here, not here. Later."

"Clean it up," the man called Ray insisted, catching his shoulder.

"Fuck off!" Chris said, brushing the man's hand away. An arm round his throat stopped his progress abruptly and his tray dropped to the floor with a loud crash. The room fell deadly silent, all eyes upon them. The sound of safety catches being released on rifles rang ominously around the room, but the guards made no move to stop what was happening.

Chris noted Alvin inching away, then the arm jerked tighter round his throat. 'What the hell,' he thought, 'might as well get it over with.' He slammed his elbow into the man's stomach and Ray let out his breath in rush, loosening his hold.

Chris broke free and turned, ready to defend himself. The guards were still watching. Ray charged and Chris punched him solidly in the jaw, splitting his lip, but the man barely slowed, ploughing into him. They landed in a heap on the ground and Chris cried out in pain as his head cracked against the floor. While he was stunned, Ray rolled him onto his stomach and punched him over and again in the kidneys.

Blinking the stars from his eyes, Chris' instinct was to lash out, but no matter how much he wanted to, his job came first and he held back, gritting his teeth against the pounding pain. This would be the quickest way into the medical wing.

Getting bored, Ray slammed Chris' head into the floor until the guards started to pull him off. Blinking through fractured vision, Chris let go of his anger and lashed out with a foot, catching the Ray in the groin. He was satisfied to hear the man cry out before someone knelt on his bruised back, forcing him into the ground and pulled his hands behind his back, cuffing him. He was hauled roughly to his feet and dragged away, stumbling painfully between two guards.

*****

Sam tried to fight down concern for his partner. The beating had looked pretty bad from where he was sitting.

Once Chris was taken away, the guards had let his opponent go after ordering him to clean the floor. Sam noticed as Alvin gave one of the guards a low five and a small packet passed from the guard to the prisoner.

"I suppose Reynolds will be spending time in the med-wing," Sam said lightly as he absently stirred the unappetising semolina round his tray.

"Doubt it," replied Boa licking his tray clean. "Solitary most likely."

"After a beating like that?" Sam asked incredulously, trying not to let his growing worry show.

"He got off lightly. Alvin must either like him, or have plans for him."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you see? Alvin's got a good thing going with the guards. They leave him alone, feed him junk and in return he does favours. He might look like a runt, but he's very well connected inside and out."

Sam brightened at that; he would see about Alvin later. "And that was a favour?" he asked.

Boa nodded. "When they come in fighting, take 'em down before they start causing trouble. Standard policy."

"Effective?"

"Pretty much," Boa nodded again. "Reynolds came in with you, didn't he?"

Sam nodded, "We were partners."

"And you're worried about him."

Sam laughed softly, "I don't know why; he can take care of himself."

"Don't," Boa told him. "Worry about yourself. Your concern for Reynolds will only get both him and you killed, or worse. You'll be used against each other, if not by Alvin, then somebody else."

Sam shrugged, "Easy done. He blames me for getting him in this mess, but then again, looking out for number one has always been my speciality."

Boa regarded him thoughtfully, "Good boy," he said, but Sam had the feeling that the big man could see right through him.

"Do you know anything about a Henry Lamont?" asked Sam casually. "A friend of mine asked me to look him up."

"Lamont," Boa shook his head. "If he's here, he's not in this block. Maybe in one of the others."

"How would I go about finding out?" Sam asked.

Boa indicated Alvin, who was helping Ray out of the canteen. "The runt. You'll have to pay him though."

"With?"

Boa shrugged, "Dope, cigarettes, alcohol, information, a blow-job. Whatever you're willing to give. Unless you can't pay, in which case, whatever takes his fancy. As he's so fond of saying, a favour for a favour."

*****

Chris was angry and frustrated as he sat in the corner of the small, windowless cell. He had a blanket and a bucket for company and no light. His body ached from the beating he had just taken and he was convinced his skull and kidneys were smashed beyond repair. The rational part of his mind told him that he was overreacting, but right now, with nothing else to distract him and too sore to move, self-pity was setting in. And why the hell not, he had five days to wallow in it.

*****

Sam scanned the paddock, looking for Lamont's face among the men lounging or playing basketball. He quickly realised that only the men from his own block were out here. They must let them out in rotation.

He approached Alvin, who was hopping up and down at the edge of the basketball area.

"I hear you're the man to talk to," Sam said, watching the game.

"Talk all you like, man, all you like, I'm a real good listener, good at listening, that's me."

"I'm looking for someone. I think he's in another block. Henry Lamont."

"I know about him." Alvin nodded, "Yep, came in with the sick guy, he did."

"Could be the one. I want to meet with him."

"Are you crazy, man?" Alvin stopped hopping. "You're crazy, this ain't a social centre."

"Can you do it?"

"What have you got? A favour for a favour," Alvin asked slyly, shifting restlessly again.

"Nothing at the moment, but I'm sure I can find something."

Alvin eyed him up and down, "There's nobody got nothing, everyone's got something." He rubbed his own crotch, leering. "Let me know when you got something you want to trade." Alvin's wild-eyed gleam turned feral. "Or you can just owe me a favour and I get to choose your payment."

"I'll let you know," Sam told him with a sly smile of his own before casually wandering away.

*****

Chris spent most of his waking hours doing floor exercises, although there was little room for that, trying in vain to blot out the self-pity, anger and guilt that haunted him.

With nothing to distract him, he was dwelling more and more on the day that his world fell apart and it was driving him up the wall. His only other concern was Sam. He had only seen his partner the once and he seemed to be doing okay. But with Sam, you could never tell.

His routine consisted of two visits a day by a guard who gave him bread with hard cheese and a jug of water and who escorted him out, chained, to empty his slop bucket. He could only tell the meals apart because breakfast was usually accompanied by a bucket of cold-water thrown over him in lieu of a shower.

He didn't notice that his waking hours were rapidly becoming fewer.

*****

"How are things, Mr Keynes?" Spencer asked Sam through the security window, using the telephone handset provided.

"Okay, all things considered." Sam leaned closer," Reynolds isn't doing so well, things aren't as easy as he thought."

"Yes, I see my American colleague isn't having much luck." Spencer glanced over at Backup who was arguing with the guard.

"She won't. Stupid git put himself in solitary for a few days."

Spencer's mouth twitched in a smile before he coughed and changed the subject. "I've started on your appeal, but it's going to take a while," Spencer advised him. "You're not in any hurry to leave, are you?"

Sam laughed, "Just keep working on it. I'll get by."

*****

"Why can't I see my client?" demanded Backup, "I have a right- "

"He's not available," the guard told her yet again, obviously growing impatient.

His superior came over to them. "What seems to be the problem?" he asked sharply.

"This jerk won't let me see my client," snapped Backup. "I'm from the American Embassy and working on his appeal."

"And your client would be...?"

"Christopher Reynolds, held - "

"I know who he is and I'm afraid he's not available today. You should come back next week."

"Next week? But I - " Backup let a worried look cross her face. "He's not ill, is he?"

"No, not at all. He's just in solitary confinement for a few days. We don't take too kindly to brawling around here."

Making sure that they knew she wasn't happy, Backup took her leave and had to suppress a smile. If anything was going to drive the energetic Keel up the wall it would be being locked up in a small room by himself for a few days.

*****

Chris was feeling anything but energetic as he shivered in the corner of the small, cold cell. Four days into his confinement and he no longer had the willpower to move, let alone exercise.

His thought processes were becoming slower and his head felt stuffed with cotton. Sitting in the corner on the thin mattress was as far as he moved when he wasn't lying down. He had even dragged the slop bucket near to the mattress so that he wouldn't have to walk, or crawl the entire six feet to use it. And as for emptying the thing, the guards had apparently decided to let him deal with his own stench rather than try and persuade him to move out of his corner.

He sat with his knees up and his arms folded tightly across his chest. His head rested against the concrete wall, too heavy to do otherwise and he lived a repeating, waking dream of his wedding. Today was the day he had lost everything.

He was surprised in a detached sort of way that it didn't hurt so much anymore. He no longer felt the anger or the guilt, just an intense sadness from which he seemed oddly removed.

*****

Boa regarded his cellmate thoughtfully. He genuinely liked Keynes but couldn't help wondering what he was doing in here. The big man's instincts told him that there was more to Keynes than met the eye, but it was too soon to tell exactly what.

The man's relationship with Reynolds was odd to say the least. He had only seen the American the once and had no idea what he was like. Keynes was insistent that Reynolds was strictly a business partner and that he could look after himself, but that insistence was completely at odds with the hopeful glances that crossed Keynes' face every time the door to the punishment block opened.

Keynes had asked him how to get hold of something to trade with Alvin and he had told him the truth; he didn't know. The only possible source of tangible goods was Alvin or his cronies.

One thing was clear to Boa, though, and that was that Keynes needed watching and he decided to take that task upon himself.

*****

When the door scraped open, Chris curled up as tightly as he could, waiting for the bucket of cold water to hit him. The chains were thrown onto the floor next to him and an order to put them on was barked at him. Chris stared at them dully, with no inclination to move. Eventually, he was physically dragged out of his corner at gunpoint.

He did as instructed with shaking hands and was hauled to his feet, surprising himself when his legs gave way. One of the guards yanked him out into the corridor and Chris shied away from the relatively bright light, squinting. The guards dragged him back to his cell in the main block staggering, assailed with dizziness and unable to put one foot in front of the other without tripping up.

*****

Sam happened to be near Chris' cell when they brought him back and one look at his partner sent him scurrying inside after the guards had left. He found Chris where they had left him, slumped semi-conscious on the bottom bunk. Five days worth of beard did not hide gaunt cheeks and reddened eyes and the filthy, damp jumpsuit over the shivering body did nothing alleviate Sam's dismay.

Sam sensed a large presence behind him, Boa. "He needs a doctor," Sam told him.

"He's not going to get one," Boa replied matter-of-factly. "You have to be either raving or losing a lot of blood for that to happen." Boa considered them both before saying, "Don't worry. Just get him into some dry clothes. He'll feel sorry for himself for a while, then he'll either come back fighting, or not."

"You've done this before, I take it. Can you give me a hand?" Sam asked, starting to strip his partner.

"I can do it myself," slurred Chris weakly, pushing Sam's hands away.

"Sure." Boa took Chris' weight while Sam changed him, both ignoring the American's protests. "Most of us have been through this." Boa watched Sam as he worked. "You're not doing a very good job of not caring," Boa told him.

Sam smiled, "We were partners for a long time and he's useful. If he gets himself killed in a brawl, then that's his lookout, but I would hate to see him taken down by something as inane as pneumonia. I owe him and I think this will even things up a bit."

Boa nodded in apparent understanding.

"Not fucking likely," Chris muttered darkly as they let him go. He curled up to sleep and Sam put a hand on his shoulder, more to reassure himself than his friend.

He was abruptly knocked to the side as Alvin pushed his way in. "Hey, hey, you're back! Feeling low?" he asked Chris, who muttered something inaudible.

Boa pulled a reluctant Sam towards the door, but the CI5 agent hesitated.

"Get outta here, outta here." Alvin motioned pushing them away. "This is my partner, mine. I get to look after him."

Sam tensed at that, but Boa's firm hand on his shoulder prevented him from doing anything he would have regretted. Reluctantly, Sam let Boa lead him away.

"Hey, Kicker." Alvin shook Chris, but Chris couldn't be bothered with him. "I'll make ya feel better, come on, come on, get some water down ya."

Chris heard Alvin filling a tin mug with water, but didn't hear him empty a tiny sachet of white powder into it. When Alvin tried to make him drink, he didn't want to know, but the young man was insistent, bullying and nagging until at last he relented and drank. Anything for the quiet life.

The water was good, fresher somehow than the water he had had in solitary and he drained it. Not long after, he felt alive, the fuzziness and cotton wool lifting from his brain and every muscle twitching.

"Wh-what did you give me?" he gasped, adrenaline rushing through him like a euphoric fire.

"Feeling better now, huh? Should be feeling good."

Chris rolled off the cot and pinned the blond against the wall by his throat. "What did you do to me?" he hissed, eyes wild with fear and anger.

"Chill, man, chill." Alvin looked terrified. " I was only trying to help, to help, man."

Chris growled and increased the pressure on the man's throat.

"Easy, easy, man. The water in solitary, they put downers in it, to calm you down, you know, make you calm, stop fighting. I just gave y'some speed, pick you up, you know?"

Chris let go of the smaller man suddenly, all his nerves jangling, and collapsed on the bunk, but he couldn't stay still for long.

He jumped back to his feet as Alvin slunk out of the cell. Chris kicked the door shut after the runt and paced the small room rubbing his arms, trying to stop the tingling under his skin. His thoughts were rampaging randomly around his head and he struggled to calm himself down.

Intellectually, a part of him understood what was happening to him, although he had never experienced a high like this before, and knew that he just had to wait it out. But knowing and doing were two different things and right now, with his whole body wrapped in a euphoric blanket and his mind functioning faster than he had ever dreamed possible, he knew with utter certainty that he could take on the world and win.

*****

Ray was leaning idly against the wall outside the runt's cell. Alvin had told him to keep an eye on his cellmate and to let him know when Reynolds had calmed down.

He shook his head; one day Alvin was going to go too far. Ray had been here a long time and he had seen the runt thrown in here as a nervous little con artist, and not a particularly good one, either. But the kid had known how to kiss ass with the right people and had worked hard to gain some limited status. But the tiny taste of the power that had come with that status had made him hungry for more. From then on, as his status and power increased, so did his thirst for more, accompanied by a growing talent for violence and cruelty. The kid actually got off on it.

Ray himself was happy to act as Alvin's bully boy as it had certain advantages, but he was quite well connected himself through Alvin's machinations and was already planning the runt's downfall in the event that he did indeed go too far.

The cell door banging open made Ray jump slightly and Reynolds burst out, crashing into him. Ray scrambled out of the way, helped by a generous shove from Reynolds.

*****

As Chris pulled himself to his feet, he recognised Ray and pounced on the man, pinning him to the wall. "Where is he?" he hissed, finally focussed on one thought; that of finding Alvin and letting the runt have the full force of the excess energy and anger coursing through him.

"Calm down, Reynolds, or you'll bring the guards down on us," Ray said calmly despite the strong hands twisting his collar tight around his throat.

"Fuck the guards! Where's Alvin?" Chris snarled, drawing closer so that he was barely an inch from the other man's face.

"Reynolds," Ray's voice became sharper, "Chris, let me up. Now. Trust me, you don't want to go back to solitary." He rolled his eyes to the left, and Chris followed his gaze to see a pair of guards approaching them with cruel smiles and coshes in their hands.

Chris looked back at Ray. He wasn't scared of the guards, but the thought of going back into that cold, damp, dark cell filled him with dread. He backed off, and Ray got to his feet, putting an arm around Chris' shoulders and herding him away from the guards. Chris tried to shake the other man off, but Ray's grip grew tighter.

"Make nice, Reynolds, I'll take you to Alvin, just lets get out of sight of those guards first."

Chris threw Ray's arm off his shoulders, but allowed Ray to lead him away. As they passed other inmates, a lot of them mean looking thugs, Chris calmed down, an overwhelming feeling of superiority taking over. He was better than any of these guys. He was a SEAL, a trained killer and more than capable of taking any these low-lifes down. He grinned to himself; he was just itching for one of them to try.

Alvin was waiting in the recreation room. He bounced over to them, and Chris suppressed the urge to hit him. He was in too good a mood now, and it wasn't like the runt would put up a good fight.

"Hey, Kicker, you feelin' better now? Better? Cuz I was only tryin' to help, ya know. 'M sorry if was the wrong thing to do. Sorry, you know, man?"

Alvin looked pathetic, his eyes big and sorrowful.

"It's cool," Chris replied, his eyes wandering restlessly around the room. He leaned down and growled in the runt's ear, "Do it again, though, and I'll feed you your own balls."

Alvin gulped, stepping back, and Chris left them without seeing the satisfied smirk that crossed the smaller man's face.

*****

For Sam, the prison only provided a steady diet of boredom. He loved people watching, but could only watch the same people doing the same things for so long.

He was well aware that generally people kept away from him while Boa was by his side and at present, saw no reason to change that. It was almost like having his own personal bodyguard. He had already seen other inmates suffering at the hands of guards and inmates alike and had no doubt that if it hadn't been for Boa, he would probably have been suffering in the same way.

The next time Sam saw Chris was in the paddock the next day. He indicated to the American to meet him away from the main crowd of inmates and was relieved to see Chris nod slightly.

Sam stood by the inner fence, listening to the electrical hum of the outer fence and waited for his partner to join him. Chris grabbed hold of the fence next to him and began pushing himself off it repeatedly.

"You all right?" Sam was concerned. His partner had cleaned up and shaved, looking a lot better than he did before, but his eyes were too bright and he was positively bouncing.

"Fine," Chris spat out, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "You find Lamont, yet?"

"Kind of. I need something to trade with Alvin. I haven't been able to come up with anything so far."

Chris giggled slightly, "I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Chris, be serious. I'm told that his cronies might have something and as you seem so friendly with Ray, I thought you might be able to get hold of something."

"Yes, boss," he giggled again.

"Enough!" Sam grabbed Chris by the wrist and turned him sharply until they were facing each other. "What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing!" Chris hissed and Sam drew back, letting his partner go as he saw the bright, wild fury in his partner's eyes. "Keep your stinking hands to yourself."

Sam watched in shocked silence as Chris stalked away.

*****

Ray was in the sparsely furnished gym when Chris approached him. He could tell that Reynolds was on a high again, although not like that first one; Alvin was being more discreet now.

Ray found that he liked Alvin's newest recruit; he generally had a cheerful nature that was infectious and being an ex-military man himself, they had a lot in common. Chris was cagey about his more recent past, since leaving the Navy, but shared ribald Naval adventures with enthusiasm.

"Hey, Ray," Chris called, sauntering up to him. Ray stopped working with the weights and grabbed a towel.

"Right on time," Ray said, mopping his sweating face and neck.

"Yeah, listen, I need to get a hold of something," Chris said, grinning.

"What?" asked Ray, curiously.

"Friend of mine needs something to trade with Alvin, wants to see some old guy in the next block or something."

Ray nodded. "So long as it's not for your own use," he said cautiously.

Chris glared at him incredulously, "What do you -? Not on your life!" he spat. "Once was more than enough!"

Ray smiled at the disgust evident in Chris' eyes. The poor slob didn't even know he was even now enjoying one of Alvin's favours. Ray didn't like the idea, but in here, it was suicide to involve yourself in other people's misfortunes. He got up and made his way over to the changing rooms with Chris in his wake.

"This for your English friend?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," Chris said, keeping his voice low so that the guards didn't hear. "I've been a bit off with him lately, guess I owe him one, you know how it is."

Ray nodded, "Chris, take my advice. Don't let Alvin know that he's your buddy."

"Why not?" Chris looked confused.

Ray sighed, "Alvin will use that against you or him. He would see one of you as a lever, and when sees something like that, he gets some very nasty ideas into his head. He's got his eye on you as it is, don't bring your friend into the equation."

"Sorry, still not following."

Ray thought for a moment, deciding that he'd said more than enough, and looking for a way to distract Chris, then he grinned. "How'd you fancy getting one over on Alvin?" he asked slyly, knowing that drugs would allow Chris to be easily distracted.

Chris' broad grin was the only answer he needed.

*****

At dinner, Sam saw Chris talking to Alvin, who carried his partner's tray to a table. He noticed that his partner was shaking, a haunted cast to his features. But curiously enough, after he had eaten, his eyes brightened and he became restless once more.

When Sam walked out of the canteen with Boa, Chris bumped heavily into him from behind, knocking him into the wall. A surge of anger flared through him and he pushed himself off the wall, but Boa held him back. Rubbing his arm where he'd hit the wall, he seethed as Chris sniggered at him, rubbing his nose as he walked away. Ray patted Chris on the back and Sam felt a moment's anger as the pair walked away laughing at some private joke.

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets as he accompanied Boa back to their cell. Something crinkled and he suppressed a laugh. 'Sometimes, Chris, I love you,' he thought.

Later, after they had been locked in their cells for the night, Sam examined his prize; a little plastic bag containing eight tiny white pills. He decided that he would have to find something else to put them in as he had no intention of giving Alvin the whole lot.

*****

After the showers, Alvin went to the changing rooms to get dressed, accompanied by Ray, as usual. He was putting on his jumpsuit when the English gent caught his attention by clearing his throat.

Boa was standing behind Keynes, a short distance away and Alvin looked around at the ever present guards. He threw the guards a look and they obediently retreated to the other end of the room. God, he loved that power.

He turned his attention back to Keynes, "So, ya got something for me? Something to trade? A favour for a favour?"

Keynes held up a little foil packet between two fingers, his expression icy. Alvin motioned to Ray, who stepped into the space between them and took the packet from the arrogant Englishman.

Alvin stared at Keynes while Ray unwrapped the foil. The Englishman was staring right back, sending chills down Alvin's spine. For the first time it occurred to him that Keynes could be a threat to his status. He had the brains and he had the muscle in the form of Boa. And most of all, Alvin just plain didn't like the guy. Still, business was business and he had a reputation to keep up.

"Five tabs," Ray said to him quietly.

Alvin nodded and spoke to Keynes. "Not bad for a first favour, not bad, you know," he said. "Stay cool and you'll get your favour, you'll get it, I never break a contract, never."

Keynes inclined his head slightly, moving away without saying a word and with Boa trailing behind.

*****

The following day, Boa and Ray leaned side by side against the wall in the paddock, watching Keynes and Reynolds talking at the far side. The two men had a lot of respect for each other although they disagreed on a lot of things, such as Ray's involvement with Alvin.

"So what do you think about those two?" asked Ray.

Boa shook his head slowly. "Can't work them out," he said, "Keynes doesn't belong in here and he's definitely up to something."

"Alvin doesn't like him," Ray told him, the warning implicit.

Boa chuckled, "Doesn't surprise me. Keynes comes over as a bit snotty at times. What about Reynolds?"

"He worries me; they both worry me, really. You know that Alvin's got Reynolds junked?"

"Thought as much," Boa frowned. "Don't think Keynes has twigged yet, though."

"Well, Reynolds was on a downer earlier, a bit confused, you know how it goes. Seems Reynolds isn't his name, it's Keel. You've got to wonder if Keynes, well, if that's his name too."

Boa's eyebrows shot up. "Does Alvin know?"

Ray shook his head, "I'm not going to tell him, either. I want to know more. The police are pretty thorough when it comes to checking out their prisoners."

"I remember," Boa said in thought. "They must have some pretty heavy backers to cover up their identities.

"By the way, Alvin asked me to give you a message for Keynes."

"Oh, yeah? About the old geyser he's so desperate to see?"

Ray nodded. "Tonight, in the changing rooms after the showers, he should hang back."

"I'll tell him," Boa said, pushing himself off the wall.

*****

"So, how's it going?" Chris asked Sam, his gaze wandering absently around the paddock.

"I don't really know," Sam replied. "I'm waiting for Alvin to set something up."

Chris looked at Sam and grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ray says he's been making enquiries for you," he offered, then giggled slightly, thinking about the joke he and Ray had played on the runt.

"What about you?" Sam asked, concern evident on his face.

"Hey, give me time, would you?" Chris was immediately on the defensive, not liking the underlying accusation he could hear in Sam's voice. "I'm trying, you know, but it's not easy."

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but apparently bit his tongue and shook his head.

"I said I'm trying, Sam! So get off my case," Chris snapped. "You do your job, and let me do mine. Have I ever let you down?"

Sam looked at him steadily for a long moment. "No," he said at last. "No, you haven't."

"Right," Chris nodded, appeased and wandered away from Sam before his partner could ask any more awkward questions. Truthfully, the job in question no longer seemed important to him. Just getting through each day, trying to overcome the regular fits of depression that seemed to descend upon him unexpectedly, was taking too much out of him. He felt a little guilty that he was neglecting the mission and Sam, but it really wasn't his fault. He'd get round to it, of course, but not until he was ready.

*****

Sam waited in the changing rooms after it had emptied and the guards were seemingly unsurprised by his reticence to leave. Sam surmised that Alvin had dealt with them.

He felt some relief that he was finally going to see Lamont. Maybe there would be no need for Chris to see Hayes and they could get out of this pit. There was definitely something wrong with Chris, but he trusted his partner with his life. The American had never let him down and despite the doubts that Chris was functioning at full capacity, his faith in his partner was still rock solid.

The door crashed open and a guard escorted an elderly man in who looked at Sam in confusion.

"Five minutes," said the guard, before closing the door on them accompanied by the guards that had been in the changing room.

"What do you want with me?" the old man asked, guardedly.

Sam motioned for him to sit down on one of the benches and plonked himself tiredly next to him. He outlined the contents of the package that Malone had received. "Can you tell me where it is?" he finished.

"Yes," nodded the old man. "But you'll need the password to activate it and only Marcus knows that."

"But we don't want to activate it - "

"You'll have to. It's the only way to destroy it safely. Unless you plan on simply burying the halves on different continents."

Sam just sighed.

"Now, before I tell you, I need to know that you are who you say you are."

Sam blinked at him, "I actually have no idea how to prove that to you."

The old man smiled. "Three questions, what's your real name? And your designation?

"That's two." Sam smiled wearily, "Sam Curtis, 3.7."

"Now here comes the third; who is Malone's secretary?"

Sam smirked. "He doesn't have one, though Backup is always complaining that she gets treated like one."

"I happen to know Harry Malone quite well," said Lamont, "And since I have, or rather had, a high security clearance, I happen to know quite a bit about CI5."

"You were in CI5?" Sam asked incredulously.

Lamont nodded with a wistful smile. "Before your time by a couple of years, I think. Harry's very proud of you all, although I'm sure he never tells you that."

"No, he doesn't," Sam said. "But I suppose we all know that, regardless." He ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, but I really don't see Malone telling you all about us. You must know how hot he is on security."

"Oh, we didn't talk often and he really doesn't say all that much. He's never mentioned you or this 'Backup' incidentally, but I do know the designation format and that Harry has always refused a secretary - he thinks they're a waste of resource. Stupid if you ask me. CI5 would have fallen apart twenty years ago if it hadn't been for Betty."

"Betty?" Sam asked.

"George Cowley's secretary. Tell me, what's your partner's designation?"

"My partner? Er, 4.5. Why?"

"Harry still has a sense of humour then. I had a couple of dealings with the original 3.7. and 4.5., you know. I hope their reputation hasn't weighed you down too much."

Sam chuckled, "I think we got over that a long time ago."

The guards returning cut short their conversation and Lamont was taken away, leaving Sam to make his way back to his own cell.

*****

Chris couldn't stifle the laughter as Alvin frantically tore through his stashes. Ray tried to stop him but was too busy trying to contain his own amusement at Alvin's antics. The runt kept a careful log of his stashes and had noticed that exactly eight little white pills had vanished.

It was obvious to Chris that Sam had held some back just in case he needed them, but that hadn't fooled Alvin.

"It's not funny, no, not funny, " the little blond told them. "The bastard sold me my own stuff, I know he did, fucking asshole!"

'He did, didn't he?' thought Chris and found that thought hysterical, leaning on Ray, who clapped him on the shoulder. "Cool it, kid," Ray chuckled softly, "Wouldn't want the twerp catching on."

But the comment only made Chris laugh harder. "Sorry," he gasped, biting down on his knuckles.

"We're gonna teach the bastard, teach him he can't mess with me!" wailed Alvin. "It's about time he got what was coming, about time! He's an arrogant bastard and I don't like the way he looks at me, I don't like it, you know, not at all."

Alvin turned to Ray with white fury radiating from his entire hyperactive being. "We're going to teach the bastard who runs things around here."

*****

Ray considered Chris across the table at dinner. Alvin had planned to set Keynes up after the meal in the gym and, as the runt had wanted Chris there, Ray had been worried that Chris might wade in and make things worse.

He had taken preventative action and added a little extra to Alvin's favour that evening in the hopes of making Chris incapable of doing anything.

Alvin had given Ray the task of getting Boa out of the way for half an hour and he had asked the big man to butt out, promising that he wouldn't hurt Keynes too much. Boa had agreed to that, seeing that a confrontation could well escalate into a war that neither man wanted.

*****

Chris leaned on the wall behind Alvin and watched as Ray laid into Sam. The guards had vanished and the four of them had the gym to themselves.

Sam hit back, bringing Ray to his knees and, for some reason, Chris found that incredibly funny and giggled. When Ray slammed Sam's head against the concrete floor, that was even funnier and the giggle turned into suppressed laughter.

He gave up trying to hold back, and laughed out loud as Ray took advantage of the stunned man, punching him in the stomach repeatedly until the Englishman lay curled up and unmoving.

When Ray had finished and Sam was lying on the floor, Ray, Alvin and the others left, motioning for Chris to come with them, but for some reason he felt the need to go and check on Keynes.

He crouched down beside Sam, touching the bruised face.

"Chris," Sam muttered, looking at him through swollen eyes.

"Hey, buddy, how are you doing?" he giggled at his own wit.

"Not good, you wanna help me out, here?"

"Ummm, no, I don't think so," Chris replied slowly, then faster as jumbled thoughts cascaded into words that he had to get out. "If I did that then it would look bad and that wouldn't be good and what do you think would happen if the chipmunk caught me helping you? And anyhow, you're doing okay, that big friend of yours keeps you safe and I'm sure he'll come and make sure you're okay and if you're not, you can go to the med wing which would be funny, cuz I think that's where I'm supposed to be going to, to... to... do something..."

"Fuck, Chris, what are you on?" Sam raised his head from the floor, wincing in pain as he did.

Chris blinked owlishly and looked at Sam in surprise. "Nothing," he said, unable to comprehend Sam's problem. He stood up and said casually, "See y'around sometime."

He left the injured man behind without looking back. He knew that something was wrong within himself, but couldn't quite put his finger on it. He did know that it didn't feel right leaving Keynes behind, but he didn't know what else he could do.

*****

Sam watched in disbelief as his partner left. Here he was, lying on the floor in agony after a thorough beating, and all his partner could say was 'See y'around, sometime'? Sam laid his head back on the floor in shock.

And from somewhere inside his fractured sub-conscious mind came the image of Chris leaning against the wall, laughing as Ray beat six shades of hell out of him.

When the guards came back in, closely followed by Boa, he closed his eyes in relief but felt the rock solid faith that he had had in his partner crumble into dust.

*****

Alvin watched Reynolds crouching down by Keynes through the partially open door. He saw him touch the beaten man's face, saw Keynes eyes pleading for help and saw the look of confused regret on Reynolds' face.

He filed that information away for future use. Meanwhile, he had to make sure that Reynolds knew exactly what his status was. And he did so enjoy this part of the recruitment process.

*****

Sam groaned as Boa helped him sit up. He took the water that the big man gave him, and winced as he took a swallow, his bruised jaw protesting.

"I feel like crap," he moaned.

"You look like crap," Boa told him. "You've got some lovely bruises all over your stomach."

Sam nodded slowly, his brain rattling painfully round his head. "I can feel each and every one of them, believe me."

"The good news is that they are only bruises, you'll just be a bit sore for a while," Boa said. "Ray could have given you a lot worse."

"You think he likes me, then?" Sam asked, smiling slightly.

"Nope," replied Boa. "But he likes your friend, and that obviously counted for something."

The smile vanished from Sam's face and he stared into space for a minute. "I don't think I like him or know him anymore," he whispered. "What the hell was that all about, anyway?"

Boa looked closely at Keynes, and saw the naked betrayal quickly masked in Sam's eyes. "You traded Alvin's own treats back to him. Keynes," he touched Sam's shoulder, as the other man's eyes grew hollow. "Sam, listen to me. This place does that to people. Changes them into something they would never have been in the outside world. Don't blame Reynolds."

Sam looked down. "Too late for that," he said. "It's about time I really did start looking out for number one, isn't it?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curtis and Keel get thrown into a brutal prison.

Backup and Spencer sat drinking coffee in the sun outside a small cantina. They had been to the prison that morning and were feeling somewhat subdued.

"I think we should pull them out of there," Spencer said quietly.

Backup shook her head, "Much as I would love to, Malone wants us to wait a bit longer."

"But you saw them!" Spencer protested, "I've never seen Curtis look so defeated. He just looked like, I don't know, like his soul had been ripped out or something."

"I know," agreed Backup. "Keel looked... looked... If I didn't know him better, I'd say he was on something."

"He tried to attack you through the security window."

"I know," said Backup. "And for the life of me, I don't know whether it was an act or not; he was crazy. Laughing one minute and trying to punch through reinforced glass the next. And what he did say really didn't make a whole lot of sense."

"At least he showed some life," Spencer said sadly. "Curtis was like a zombie."

"How long can it take to just talk to a couple of guys?" Backup was frustrated.

"At least Curtis made contact with Lamont. I just wish they didn't have to get to Hayes as well."

"I think Keel is trying pretty hard to get to Hayes," offered Backup. "Maybe too hard."

"Curtis too," sighed Spencer.

*****

Sam watched helplessly as Ray laid into him with Alvin encouraging him from behind. A wild laughter came from the side and looked around but couldn't see anyone. He looked back to Ray, who was still methodically punching him over and over and the wild laughter became louder.

He looked across to Alvin, but it wasn't Alvin anymore, it was Chris and he was laughing and encouraging Ray who started hitting him so hard his body was shaking.

The shaking grew worse and he pushed away. A sharp slap and he opened his eyes to see a concerned Boa standing over him.

"Bad dream?" the big man asked with a small smile.

"You could say that," Sam muttered, wiping his face. Boa patted him on the leg and retired to his own bunk Sam collapsed back on the bunk and tried to put his raging emotions in order.

*****

Chris woke up, shivering, to the feel of cold metal on his cheek. "Alvin, quit fucking around," he said without opening his eyes. The metal was removed and Chris rolled over. He really felt like shit. He could feel the cold sweat on his face, but couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how tightly he curled up.

He had difficulty focussing on the figure in front of him but finally made out Alvin crouching on the floor. He was running his fingers over his 'blade'; a metal spoon carefully filed down to leave a sharp edge and a semi-pointed tip.

Chris groaned. He really didn't want to deal with the little fucker right now. He was so tired that he just wanted to sleep. His limbs were aching and his muscles locked with the violent tension of his shaking.

"Want you to do something, pay me back the favours you owe me." Alvin wasn't bouncing anymore, though his eyes were still wild.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I don't owe you anything." Chris was getting impatient with the runt, which only made his shaking worse.

"You took my bunk. I've given you lots of favours, lots of magic these last few days. You owe me for those. You owe me if you want any more."

Chris struggled to assimilate Alvin's meaning and after swallowing a couple of times, said, "you're crazy, it was just that once and I didn't ask for them." If Alvin didn't stop his prattling, Chris was quite sure that he was going to punch the runt's lights out.

"You're wrong, you know. I put them in the water, in your food, just little itty bits. Just enough. Didn't give you any in a while though. Can you feel it?"

It took another moment for the words to register, but when it did, Chris' temper snapped. "You fucking bastard!" Chris tried to throw himself at Alvin, but only managed to land in a heap on the floor, shaking, his muscles refusing to obey him. Alvin bent over him. "Are you sure you don't want a little something to steady your nerves?" he grinned.

The urge to wipe that grin off the runt's face was overwhelming and Chris threw his fist into Alvin's face as hard as he could.

Alvin stumbled backwards, blood spurting from his nose. "Asshole!" he screamed, launching a kick at Chris' unprotected head, before running out of the cell.

The kick lacked any real force and Chris didn't really notice it over the sudden cramping in his stomach. It took everything he had to just keep from throwing up.

*****

Sam was woken up rudely from a light doze by Ray hauling him roughly off his bunk. Alvin was at the doorway, hopping up and down, his eyes darting about in a frenzy.

"Take him down to the showers!" Alvin screeched.

Just then, Boa appeared behind the runt and shoved him up against the door.

Sam heard Ray call out to Boa and saw the big man glance in his direction. Boa abruptly released Alvin and stepped back.

Sam tensed, ready to fight his way free of Ray even though he knew that he wouldn't make it; he was still too sore. But a soft whisper stopped him. "Cool it, Keynes. Just sit back and watch it all play out."

Sam did not understand what was happening, but the fact that Boa had backed off gave him some small measure of confidence. Putting up no more than a token struggle, he allowed himself to be taken to the showers.

*****

Chris was still lying on the floor of his cell when Boa came bursting in.

"Ray wants you in the showers," he said, anger evident in his voice.

"Fuck Ray," Chris muttered, wishing a nice big black hole would come and swallow him up. There was more traffic here than Piccadilly Circus and he just wanted to be left alone to die in peace.

Boa crouched down next to him and slapped his face lightly. When Chris responded by cracking an eye open, the big man continued. "No, Reynolds, you don't understand," he growled. "If you don't go down there and sort this business out, they're going to rip Keynes to pieces."

"Sort what out?" Chris asked, trying to recall exactly what he had done to upset Ray.

"Alvin says you smacked him one." Boa's lips twitched with a suppressed smile as he said that.

"He deserved it," Chris moaned. "The fucking bastard's got me on some shit and I didn't even know! Stupid, so fucking stupid!"

"I don't doubt that he deserved it, but Ray's calling you on it."

Sam was in trouble and Chris recalled leaving him when he needed help before. He felt a stab of guilt as he remembered that and felt that he should do something this time. He tried to lift himself up, but his muscles protested with a rousing crescendo and his stomach rebelled sending nausea washing through him. "I can't do anything like this, I can't even fucking move!"

Boa stared at him for a moment, then rummaged around the top bunk until he produced a little white pill.

"Take it," he said. "Keynes and I will see about getting you off them afterwards."

Chris looked at the pill in disgust for a long time before turning his head away, revulsion warring with need.

"Take it, you little piece of shit," Boa snarled. "You got Sam into this, you can damn well get him out of it. Or are you a coward?"

Chris stared at him with bitter fury and snatched the pill, swallowing it before he had a chance to change his mind.

*****

Sam stood next to the wall flanked by two of Alvin's thugs while Ray spoke with the runt in lowered tones. His emotions were whirling. On the one hand, he prayed that Chris would come; he didn't think his own chances of survival were that good if he didn't. But on the other hand, he couldn't bear the thought of Chris just standing by again and letting the runt do whatever it was he had planned.

He had gathered that Alvin was using him as a 'hostage' to get Chris down here and into a fight with Ray. But Sam also had the impression that his own welfare was at stake if the American should lose, or fail to turn up.

Other inmates trickled in and Sam could see surreptitious slips of paper passing between them. It didn't take him long to work out that not only had they come to witness a fight, but that they were also placing bets.

Minutes stretched on as they waited for something to happen and Sam began to relax a little; he could bear his own humiliation if his partner wasn't there to laugh at him.

An imposing figure that Sam recognised as Boa pushed his way through the crowd and he saw Alvin tense. Boa stopped at the front of the small crowd, and Sam felt his heart sink as Chris stepped out from behind the big man. The crowd, including Boa, pulled back to form a small arena around him.

Sam took in his partner's appearance and his stomach twisted as he realised that his friend, no, not friend anymore, his partner, was bouncing again, his eyes too bright.

*****

Ray smiled to himself. He had had some serious doubts as to whether Reynolds would be in any condition to come down here but now he gave Boa a slight nod, knowing that the big man had made sure that he was. Alvin's little grudge match was a perfect opportunity for him and one that he wasn't about to see go to waste.

He approached Chris, who eyed him cockily, but with a slight wariness and a bitter edge to his half-smile.

"Thought we were friends, Ray," Chris said calmly.

"No such thing in this place, Chris, I tried to tell you that," Ray replied sadly.

Chris shrugged and rubbed at his arms. "Let's get it over with, then," he said bitterly.

"No," Ray said, seeing the confusion in Reynolds' glassy eyes. "I'm giving you the opportunity to do finish what you started." He backed away, leaving Chris alone in the centre of the small circle.

Ray came over to Sam and Alvin and stood defiantly in front of Alvin.

"I'm not doing it," Ray said.

"What do you mean, you're not doing it?" hissed Alvin looking around nervously. "You have to! I mean, it's what you do, you can't disobey me! You can't!"

"I'll be your bully-boy, Alvin, I mark, I don't damage, as he well knows," he pointed to Sam. "I'll even kill, given a fair fight, but I will not take on someone who is so fucking doped, he doesn't know which way is up! It's your game, you finish it!"

Alvin surveyed the crowd and Ray could hear the rustling of papers as the odds suddenly changed.

"I'll have one of the others do it, one of the others," snarled Alvin. "You're not the only one..."

"You would," said Ray loudly, the contempt dripping from his voice. "You're too much of a coward to do your own dirty work." He glanced to the side and caught the feral looks being thrown Alvin's way by the spectators. He had forced Alvin into a corner.

Alvin gave Ray a look that promised death and stalked into the circle to face off against Chris. Ray smiled when he saw the wild anger flare brightly in Reynolds' eyes.

He dismissed the thugs flanking Sam and stood next to him. "What do you think you're friend's chances are?" Ray asked Sam casually. "Alvin's a vicious little sod."

"What's your game?" Sam asked, bewildered, unable to follow what was happening.

Ray looked at him speculatively, "I'm rather hoping Reynolds or, now what did he say his name was, Keel? Yes, I'm sure that was it, I'm rather hoping he'll dispose of the runt for me."

Sam swallowed and pushed away from Ray, moving toward the makeshift arena where the two combatants were circling each other warily. Ray remained where he was, calm, as Boa pulled Keynes back to him.

"Let me go!" Sam snarled, "I've got to stop this farce! Chris doesn't stand a chance!"

"I wouldn't say that," disagreed Ray. "He's a damned good scrapper."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Boa interrupted, "He's too wired, Ray. This isn't going to be pretty."

Ray considered that. It was true that the amphetamines would hinder Reynolds' skill, but it was also true that the aggression that the drug helped induce would compensate. More than compensate. "I never thought it would be," he smiled.

*****

'Oh, shit,' thought Sam as he watched Chris and Alvin still circling, each waiting for the other to make a move. He knew that his partner, under normal circumstances would easily be able to take Alvin, but this time... 'Please be careful, Chris,' he prayed, the image of Chris laughing at him banished, for the time being, to the back of his mind by the thought that his partner had willingly come down here for him.

Sam's dismay increased as he took in his partner's stance. Gone was his usual cat like grace, to be replaced by a slightly off balance drunkenness.

Alvin produced his razor-edged spoon with a cruel smile and whispers of fear and relish grew around the room. The circling continued for an eternity before Chris finally lost his patience and launched himself at the runt.

Alvin lunged to meet him, a low slash that Chris easily avoided, following through with a kick to the smaller man's mid-section, but Alvin was too quick, leaping away. Alvin lunged again and Chris only just moved in time and it was obvious to Sam that his partner's reaction time was seriously retarded.

Chris' return caught Alvin in the jaw, staggering him backwards. Anger caught a hold of the blond as his opponent had made first contact. He attacked again and again and each time, Reynolds danced clumsily away, making no further move of his own. Alvin grew angrier with each lunge and feint and finally threw himself at Reynolds.

Chris spotted his opening and stood his ground, allowing the blade to sink into his shoulder. The glee Alvin felt at his blood on his hand turned to horror as realized that he had lost his blade.

Reynolds knocked Alvin's knife hand to the side and threw him to the floor to land on top of him. He yanked the spoon from his shoulder and threw it across the floor before proceeding to strangle the younger man.

Alvin clawed at Reynolds face and Chris gave up with the throttling, settling for punching him over and over.

Sam felt his gut twist at the unleashed wild fury on his partners face and knew with dreadful certainty that Chris was quite literally in the process of killing Alvin with his bare hands.

A sudden silence swept over the onlookers as several guards pushed through the crowd. Sam tried to break free of Boa's firm grip to go to Chris, who quite obviously had not noticed, still intent on beating Alvin to a pulp.

But the bigger man held firm and Sam could do nothing as the guards tried to pull Chris off. His partner struggled furiously, unwilling to let Alvin go, but quickly fell to the myriad blows from the coshes wielded by the guards.

Sam ran to Chris' side and Boa did not stop him. He touched Chris' shoulder gently and smiled when the younger man half-opened an eye. He was quite unprepared when Chris lashed out with a fist, crying," Fuck off!" and catching him square in the jaw. Sam grunted with the force and stumbled backwards.

He saw a guard hit Chris' shoulder and his partner responded with a grunt, but lay still. As a guard approached him, Boa dragged Sam away before he could see what was happening.

The guards funnelled the inmates out of the showers, and Boa made sure that Sam was among them. Ray was looking bitterly disappointed as he joined them. Sam craned his neck to see what was happening. Alvin and Chris were both lying curled up on the floor, both moaning. And the last view Sam had was of the guards hauling them both roughly to their feet.

*****

The doctor looked up as the guards dragged in the two semi-conscious men and chained them each to one of the four beds that his tiny hospital contained.

One of the guards pointed to the blond, "He can stay as long as he likes. We're taking the other to solitary this evening."

The doctor sighed, "And if he's not fit enough?"

The guard shrugged. "He's fit enough; he's not dead yet, is he?" he said before leaving the room.

The doctor quickly examined his two new patients and came to the conclusion that neither were seriously hurt, at least, not in prison terms. The blond, Alvin, had some heavy bruising and gashes over his face and throat, possibly even a minor a concussion; he would certainly stay here overnight. He was familiar with Alvin; he had been to see him several times when he had first arrived in the prison, but he hadn't seen him in a long time.

The other prisoner, Reynolds, according to his tag, also had some long heavy bruising that doctor recognised as being from the guards' coshes. There was a semi-circular gouge in the man's left shoulder that, while deep, had missed anything important; a nasty flesh wound. He wondered at the instrument that had caused that.

Experience had taught him that inmates could be quite inventive and he had found that he really didn't want to know exactly how inventive. He rubbed his eyes tiredly; he hated this job. Once upon a time, he had been an idealistic and not untalented young doctor. But now, with a history that did not bear close scrutiny, he was reduced to patching up men turned into savage animals and, sooner or later, signing their death certificates. Hardly real medicine and over time he had become bitter and jaded.

Using a local anaesthetic he stitched the gouge with sixteen sutures and dressed it. As he finished, he caught the man's glazed blue eyes staring at him and shook his head. His patient was too high to have felt even the sharp sting of the anaesthetic.

"'M not dead yet, then," mumbled Reynolds in a regretful tone.

The doctor gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "Sorry to disappoint. Your shoulder should be okay now, but you'll be a walking bruise for a while."

"Getting used to that."

"Quite. You'll have to come back in a week or so and have the stitches removed. If you're still alive," he added almost as an afterthought, "Can I give you some advice?"

"Depends, what is it?"

"Clean yourself up."

"Sorry, can't seem to move," Chris replied, wriggling, hands bound to the bed.

"That's for my protection," the doctor told him. "I meant, get shot of whatever you're pumping yourself full of. You might survive a bit longer that way."

"Who says I want to?" The patient rolled his head away from the doctor, his voice heavy with self-loathing and bitterness.

The doctor shook his head, "You're all the same. Planning on going down in a blaze of glory, are you?"

Chris nodded, smiling humourlessly. "Kind of assumed it."

"I won't bother wasting my breath then," the doctor scowled. "Such a waste. It never ceases to amaze me the amount of inmates who choose to get hooked on junk rather than deal with the reality of prison."

"My waste, not yours. And I didn't choose."

The doctor snorted disbelievingly, "Of course. Get some rest, you'll be taken to solitary this evening."

The doctor fiddled around with his instruments while Chris looked around squinting against the lights that seemed too bright. The whole room was moving, his stomach was churning and he could feel the chills starting to creep in. He knew where he was, but couldn't quite recall how he had got there. There had certainly been a fight and he was almost certain that at some point his opponent had changed from Alvin to Sam, but it was all too muddled.

An old man was sleeping in the next bed and he recognised the face. He had to think hard before it came to him. Marcus Hayes.

He was supposed to ask the guy something, but he couldn't remember what it was. Something to do with a bomb.

The doctor put on his coat and announced to the room in general that he was going home.

As soon as the door shut behind him, a surprisingly strong voice came from the other bed. "Has the old sod gone now then?"

"Looks like it," Chris replied tiredly rolling his head to look at him. The old man was deathly pale, his face more like a skull than a face.

"Who are you?"

Chris shivered, although he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. "Right now? I'm not exactly sure."

"Silly boy." said Hayes. "What are you in for?"

"Depends," Chris replied slowly, frowning as he tried to wade through muddled thoughts. "If my name's Reynolds then I'm in for drug smuggling, at least, I think that's what it was."

"And if your name's something else?" The old man asked with raised eyebrows.

Chris thought for a long moment. "Keel. If I'm Keel, then I'm in for, in here to, to do something..." He trailed off as he struggled to remember. It seemed a very long time ago that he was assigned his task. "I've got to ask you a question," he said uncertainly.

"Oh?" The old man seemed intrigued.

"Something to do with a - a bomb," he said softly, then more firmly as he became certain of what he was supposed to be asking. "Malone wants to know about a bomb."

"Ah, you're one of Harry's tin soldiers," Hayes smiled, his eyes twinkling with fond memories.

"I guess," Chris replied.

"I suppose the stubborn old fool changed his mind, then."

Chris threw him a puzzled look.

"Henry and I wanted to give up the bomb, but the old fart, Currie, wouldn't hear of it. So we compromised and hid it, each taking a piece. Something must have happened to make Currie change his mind."

Chris grunted, barely able to concentrate on the man's words, which seemed to literally go in one ear, swim about for a second and go out the other ear.

"Boy!" Chris responded to Hayes' call, "Angeline. Can you remember that?"

Chris looked at him blankly and the old man repeated himself.

"Angeline," Chris replied.

"Good boy, tell Malone 'Angeline'."

"Angeline," Chris repeated, struggling to keep the nausea at bay.

"Good boy. Now - "

The old man was interrupted by the arrival of the guards.

*****

Sam hung out in the recreation room. Ray had told him that Reynolds was bound for solitary as soon as the doc had patched him up. Ray had also said, with a somewhat sour look that reflected Sam's own feelings on the subject, that Alvin would be returned to the main block the next day. How Ray knew any of this, he didn't ask.

They would have to bring Chris past here to get to the solitary wing and Sam hoped that his partner would be able to give him some sort of signal that he had seen Hayes. Sam fervently hoped that Chris had seen Hayes; that his partner had had enough time and that his partner remembered what he was supposed to be doing there.

His patience was rewarded when his partner was escorted through. Chris was hunched over, his cuffed hands clutching his stomach.

Sam called Chris' name and tried to catch his eye. The American's head came up and he looked around blindly for a second before making eye contact with Sam. He nodded slightly, before screwing his eyes up in pain. The guards ignored the partially suppressed groan and hauled him onward.

Sam let out a breath that he didn't know he had been holding. On Saturday, he could tell Spencer to get them out. At this realisation, his knees went weak and he felt a little faint. It was almost over. He hadn't realised how highly strung he had been until, for just a moment, the tension fled.

Swallowing and bringing himself back to reality, Sam blinked and rubbed his bruised jaw as he thought about his partner. Chris was certainly flying off the deep end now. He had refused to believe that his partner was on drugs, despite what he had seen, but now that Boa had confirmed it, it was all so clear. And no matter that Chris had come to the showers to save Sam from Alvin's clutches, he still could not get that image of Chris when they had beaten him out of his head. That betrayal had shattered something inside him and no amount of reasons, valid or not, could make that right. Since then, he had been floating along, events occurring too fast for him to think about it.

He was not a naturally trusting man, and kept barriers between himself and the world that not many could breach. But Chris had been one of them. And now his partner had shattered that trust. Now that he had the time to think about it, he realised that Chris' betrayal simply hurt too much.

But he could shut it out. Shut Chris out. Shut everyone out. So that no one could ever make him hurt like that again.

*****

The guards dumped Chris back into that small, cold cell and he welcomed the demons that awaited him there. Anything was better than reality and it was with some relief that he curled up on the floor.

No one could hear him in here; he could scream away the stomach cramps in peace.

*****

The following day, Sam returned to his cell in the evening to find Boa packing his meagre belongings.

"Going somewhere?" asked Sam.

Boa nodded, subdued, "I'm being transferred to another block."

Sam blinked, "Why?" he asked. Some remote part of him was disappointed, but he no longer acknowledged that part of himself.

Boa shrugged, "Someone organised a transfer for me." He looked at Sam sharply. "Someone inside."

"I don't understand..." Sam looked at him, confused as two guards came to escort Boa away.

"Alvin," Boa told him as he left. "Watch your back, Sam."

*****

During a moment of lucidity, Chris' eyes fell on the tin jug of water and the thought of the drug that might just be in it started him drooling.

He tried to resist it, he really did. But if he was going to spend the next five days in here, he was going to have to drink sooner or later if he had even a hope of surviving. So, cursing his weakness, he drank and sighed as the shaking slowly stopped and a comfortable numbness settled over him.

*****

It was on the way to the showers when they got him the first time.

One of the guards held him back after he'd stripped, then left the changing room, shutting the door. Alvin, whose face was a mess, and three other men stood behind him. Ray was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, look what we've got here," one of the men sneered.

Sam backed against the wall and glared at them.

"Wipe that snotty look off his face," one of the others said.

"I'll smash that fucking attitude right out of him," the first man replied. "Hold him." His struggles useless, Sam found himself pinned against the wall, while the man approached him menacingly, with Alvin hopping in the background.

The first punch left Sam trying to double over, seeing stars and feeling sick. The Marquis of Queensbury would be spinning in his grave.

"Of course," said the man stepping back. "If he begs, I might reconsider. Are you going to beg?"

"To scum like you? Not in this lifetime," Sam hissed.

"This one, next one, I can wait," shrugged the man and punched again, this time in the stomach.

A few minutes later, Sam was hanging from his captors' grip, semi-conscious. His aggressor pulled his head up by the hair and Sam looked at him through wavering vision. He could hear familiar wild laughter in the background even though he knew that Chris wasn't there.

"Ready to beg yet?" the man asked.

"Go to Hell," he spat, blood speckling the other man. The last thing he saw was the fist aiming straight for his nose.

*****

Spencer grinned as Backup argued with the guards again.

"So, Mr Keynes, how are things?" he asked.

"Blooming," said Sam, his voice thick from his swollen jaw and nose.

"The appeal - "

"Just get us - me, the fuck out of here! Now!" Sam hissed, leaning forward, then moaning in pain.

"I should hear something in three days," Spencer told him sharply.

"Three days," muttered Sam. "Too long."

"I'll see what I can do, Mr Keynes."

*****

Sam gingerly washed himself in the communal shower and tried to work out how he could get out of the shower block without getting beaten up this time. Alvin had taken it into his head that he still needed taking down a peg or two and he and his cronies tried at every available opportunity. Sam was pretty certain that he was taking a lot of pain on Chris' behalf too.

Each cut and bruise he received pushed him one step away further away from his friendship with his partner and one step closer to complete isolation in his soul.

The guards always turned a blind eye unless it threatened to erupt into a full-scale brawl and Sam was suffering, finding it increasingly hard to stand up to them.

He was certain he had cracked a rib in that last beating. His left knee was swollen and bruises mottled his body like never before. He had given some back this time, but it had only earned him more abuse.

For the first time, he recognised that Ray had held back in his beating. Ray, for his part, had been keeping a suspiciously low profile, and Sam felt utterly alone. But he dealt with that aloneness by taking another step towards emotional isolation in his own mind.

*****

Ray watched Keynes limping through the cellblock and shook his head. He had observed the spirit draining from the other man, to be replaced with the cold, hard armour that so many inmates grew to protect their sanity.

Keynes, or whatever his name really was, would survive this place, Ray was sure. Alvin's little ambushes wouldn't reach him anymore and he would be able to take whatever other abuse was thrown at him. Of course, Keynes wouldn't be the same man anymore, but how many of the prisoners were?

Ray met Alvin's eyes across the hall. The runt's expression, even through the dark bruises, was cold and cruel and Ray shivered. He needed to do something, but was unsure as to what.

Reynolds had not done as much damage as he had hoped, and Alvin's little manoeuvre to get rid of Boa had really thrown a spanner in the works.

Ray went to the bathroom and after he done the necessary, made to leave. He was stopped by Alvin and the two cronies.

Alvin indicated that his henchmen should take Ray, but they refused. They had too much respect for him. Ray smiled and decided that now would be a good time to do his own dirty work.

Alvin snarled and produced his spoon.

It was short, but bloody. Alvin stood no chance in a fair fight and his dying screams rang through the cellblock.

Guards came rushing in and saw the mess. Ray held up the bloody spoon, looking the guards in the eyes. He slowly and deliberately tucked it inside his sleeve.

The guards nodded, smiling faintly and let him past. Alvin's two cronies fell in step behind him.

*****

The news of Alvin's death rocketed round the prison and Sam couldn't help but feel relieved. With any luck, the beatings would stop and he would be better able to get through the next couple of days.

Ray caught his eyes across the canteen. The man looked down and Sam followed his gaze to the sharpened spoon sticking out of his sleeve. He remembered how Ray had held back and hoped that this was a good sign.

*****

When Chris was returned to his cell, Ray was waiting for him.

"I'm your new cellmate, buddy, Alvin came to a sticky end."

"Wonderful," Chris muttered crawling onto his bunk. Ray crouched in front of him, holding a little white pill.

Chris turned away.

"Reynolds, take it," said Ray. "You're getting out of here, day after tomorrow. You need to keep going until then."

"What the hell do you know?" Chris turned his face away. Ray grabbed his chin and forced Chris to look at him.

"I know enough," Ray told him. "I have the contacts. The governor is even now signing the paperwork. I know that you've got friends outside and I know that they're getting both you and your friend out of here."

Chris jerked his head out of Ray's hand and said nothing, staring at the wall.

Ray wrapped the pill up in a twist of paper and shoved it in Chris' pocket.

*****

Sam took the first opportunity to go and see Chris, who was sleeping. He shook his partner, needing to know if he was going to be well enough to get out under his own steam. The American's eyes opened blearily, but he still seemed to be less than awake.

"We're getting out, day after tomorrow as I understand it. Can you make it?" he asked, concerned that Chris couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

The American grunted and feebly pushed him away, burying his head into the thin pillow.

"He'll make it," said Ray from the doorway. "I'll make sure he does."

Sam looked around at him. "With more drugs," he said calmly, surprising himself at how flat his voice sounded.

"Whatever it takes," nodded Ray. He paused and then said, "I just hope you found whatever it was you came in here for."

Sam stood up quickly, wincing as abused muscles protested at the sudden movement. He pressed his hand tightly against the pain in his ribs. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"No one gets out of here this fast," Ray said coolly. "And your names aren't Keynes and Reynolds. What am I supposed to think?"

"It's probably best you don't know," said Sam warily.

Ray nodded thoughtfully, "I used to be in Naval Intelligence before all this," he said softly. "They left me here to rot."

To Sam's surprise, there was no bitterness in Ray's voice, just a resigned acceptance. He kept his silence as Ray continued. "Your lot are pulling you out. I'll make sure they're not too late."

Sam relaxed slightly. "Thank you." He glanced briefly at Chris, satisfied that he felt no more than dutiful concern at his partner's restless sleep, and left the cell, limping as little as his swollen knee allowed.

*****

When Sam had gone, Chris roused himself a little. He had heard everything, though most of it had not registered, only the confirmation that they were getting out. He shifted slightly and heard the rustle of paper in his pocket.

With shaking hands, he felt for the twist of paper and opened it. He stared at it for a long while, failing to will away the tremors and nausea.

Two days.

He swallowed the pill.

He didn't see Ray nod approvingly from the doorway.

*****

Two days later, Sam sat in his cell waiting for the guards to take him out. Ray appeared at the door and leaned against the frame.

"They'll be here for you soon," he told Sam. "They've just taken Reynolds away."

Sam nodded without saying anything. He had kept his distance from Chris while he continued to reinforce his internal barriers. Ray had kept his word, and he supposed that Chris was okay. Well, as okay as he could be.

"Don't you want to know how he is?" Ray asked, tilting his head.

Sam considered the question carefully. Emotionally, he found that he really and truly didn't care, and that pleased him. Dutifully, however, he needed to know if his partner could function, but the job was over now, so even that was a moot point.

He looked up at Ray. "No," he said calmly and without malice. "I don't."

Disappointment ran fleetingly over Ray's face. "I have someone who wants to say goodbye," he said, moving inside to let a larger figure through.

"Boa." Sam almost smiled when he stood up to meet the man.

The big man grinned and looked Sam over, but when he met his eyes, Boa's cheerful visage immediately turned to sorrow before being replaced by a false smile.

Sam didn't understand, but let it slide. He shook the big man's hand and cried out when he was pulled into a crushing hug. Boa immediately let go, concerned. "You get yourself fixed up," he told Sam.

"I will. You take care."

"I'm moving in with Ray," Boa said. "How much trouble can we get into?"

"I don't even want to think about that," Sam replied, the ghost of smile crossing his lips. He paused and then pulled out the little foil packet with the spare pills in and gave them to Boa. "Thanks for everything," he said, as the guards came in to take him away.

*****

Backup and Spencer waited by the car for the steel doors to open with trepidation. They had a helicopter at the local airstrip just a few miles away, waiting to take them on to meet the plane that would fly them back to England.

They were both praying that Curtis and Keel would be in a fit enough state to make the trip.

When the door finally opened, Keel came bouncing out and Backup ran forward to give him a hug. He returned it with enthusiasm and laughed, giving Spencer a high five as he let go of Backup.

She held him at arms length and studied him critically. "How does it feel to be a free man?" she asked, grinning happily. She took in the fading bruises, haggard features and haunted, too bright eyes, and shivered as she recalled his outburst when she had visited him. She knew instantly that something was wrong, but right now she was just relieved that he was out of there.

"You have no idea, Backup, no idea at all," he laughed a little wildly.

"Well, you look like you could use a good meal and a shower," she told him.

"Not hungry," Chris replied, shifting restlessly, and glancing around him, "But a hot power shower sounds good, with some expensive soap and shampoo and, and... whatever else comes with it," he finished vaguely.

Backup frowned slightly, but Spencer caught her attention.

"Sam! Welcome to freedom!" he called as Curtis limped through the door. Spencer clasped Sam's hand and gave him a pat on the back.

Backup went to give him a hug, but Curtis pulled back. "Sore ribs," he explained. Her concern for Chris was pushed to the back of her mind as she took in Sam's appearance. He had the same bruises, though more livid, and the same haggard look, but where Chris' eyes were overly bright and moving constantly, Sam's eyes were dark and completely devoid of emotion. What the hell had they been through?

Once they were safely ensconced in the car, Backup set up her notebook in the front passenger seat as Spencer drove. "So, what do you have to tell me?" She directed the question to the two men in the back seat.

"The bomb?" asked Sam from directly behind her.

"Yep." Backup nodded, making the connection to CI5 Headquarters in London.

"Kent," he replied.

"Big place, Sam. Any more clues?"

"Barham," Sam replied dully. "The crematorium."

"They incinerated it?" asked Spencer incredulously.

"Interned it."

"And we have to get permission to look through every dead person's ashes?" asked Backup, "Come on, Sam, this is like pulling teeth."

"Elizabeth 'Betty' Kennedy, born 1977, died 1995." Sam replied without inflection.

"Anything else that you'd like to add to that?" Backup asked, tapping into the notepad and shaking her head with impatience. Sam's reports were normally concise and freely given, not this monosyllabic curtness that gave her the impression that every word hurt.

There was a long silence before Sam spoke again.

"There's a password," he said.

"What for?"

"To activate it. You have to activate it to destroy it."

"And the password is - ?" asked Backup, rolling her eyes.

There was another long silence before Sam replied. "Hayes had it."

Backup turned to the back seat behind Spencer. "Chris?"

"Mmm?" he looked at her blankly. "What?"

"Did you get the password?"

Chris continued to look at her blankly.

"Did you get to speak to Hayes?" she repeated.

"Of course I did," he replied defensively. "I saw him, I talked with him." He went back to looking out the window, shifting restlessly in his seat.

"And?"

"And what?"

Backup snorted impatiently and glanced at Sam, who remained expressionless.

"And what did he say? Did he give you the password?"

"Yeah, yeah," Chris waved at her dismissively.

"And the password was...?" Backup said, alarmed, "Come on, Chris, stop playing games, this is serious!"

"Don't you tell me what's serious!" Chris snarled at her, and she tried to draw back but was restricted by the seatbelt. His eyes were suddenly wild and angry as he leaned forward. "You weren't in that fucking hole! You don't know what it was like! You don't know what they did to me! You don't know what they did to him!" He stabbed a finger in Sam's direction. "You don't know anything! So don't you tell me what's fucking serious!"

"Chris," Backup stared at him with a calmness that belied her inner fright. "The password."

Chris snarled at her again and for second, she thought he was actually going to hit her. But all of a sudden he seemed to deflate and sank back into the seat, folding his arms and gazing out of the window.

"I don't know," he mumbled petulantly. "Can't remember."

"What?" Backup snapped in disbelief.

"It was," Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. "It was, Ann, an Angel, something," he said, clenching his jaw as he tried to remember.

Backup leaned back and took a deep breath. She counted to ten and reminded herself that both the guys had been through a rough time. It occurred to her that Sam had been remarkably quiet. Normally, he was Chris' calming influence, but he just didn't seem bothered, he didn't seem bothered by anything. But then again, Chris was never normally this volatile, either.

"Take your time, Chris," she said with more patience than she felt.

"Right," he replied, muttering. "Take my time, take my time, it'll come back to me, it usually does, I can do this, it's not hard, the old man was talking, tin soldiers, I remember that. Malone and his tin soldiers." He giggled slightly. "But what was the rest? An Angel, Angel, Ann, Angeline, yeah, Angeline. It was Angeline!" he declared brightly.

"Are you sure?" Backup asked carefully.

"Yes! Angeline." Chris grinned, laughing. "Angeline..." he trailed off and started humming tunelessly with a vacant half-smile.

Backup tapped on the notebook again and grinning said, "Malone says 'very well done.'" She glanced at the back seat and her heart sank as she realised that neither man was impressed by the praise. It wasn't enough.

*****

The trip back to London was a nightmare for Spencer and Backup.

Sam was pleasant enough on the rare occasions that he spoke, but his face could have been carved from granite for all the emotion he displayed. He slept fitfully for most of the journey and not once did he speak to, or otherwise acknowledge Chris in any way.

Chris on the other hand, calmed down somewhat, but his mood swings were sudden and unpredictable and he seemed constantly hyperactive. Even during the long, transatlantic flight, he was full of energy and didn't sleep. His constant shifting and pacing didn't allow for any of the others to get much rest either.

*****

It was early morning when Backup and Spencer made their way tiredly up to Malone's office. They had left Curtis and Keel in the Medical Centre, despite both men's protests that they just wanted to go home. But their concerns over both Curtis' and Keel's well being had made both Backup and Spencer determined to ensure they were seen to before being left to their own devices.

As soon as he saw them, Malone ushered Backup and Spencer into his office and told them to sit down.

"Your reports can wait," he told them. "You provided the information and the bomb is being disposed of, even as we speak. You should both get some rest."

"No, sir," Backup disagreed. "Curtis and Keel are..." she trailed off, uncertain how to proceed.

"They aren't themselves, sir," Spencer finished for her. "We thought it best to get them checked over before letting them go home."

"How serious is it?" asked Malone, sharply. Both agents looked anywhere but at their chief. "That bad?" he said softly.

Backup screwed her eyes up and rubbed at her temple. She could feel the tired fogginess turning into a full-blown headache. "I don't know, sir," she said at last.

Spencer cleared his throat. "They both look like they've been in fight. I think Sam has some tender ribs and a sore knee."

Malone raised his eyebrows. "Is that all?" he said in surprise, "Par for the course, I would have thought."

Backup shook her head, "No sir, Keel is, I think Keel is taking something. I didn't see him take anything on the way home and that was a good fourteen-hour journey, but he had sudden and violent mood-swings and sometimes he's just, off the planet somewhere." She looked up, gratified to see Spencer nodding in agreement.

"He did have opportunities, Tina," Spencer added. "The toilet, when he was pacing up and down the plane..."

"There could be reasons other than drugs for Mr Keel to be - on edge," Malone said thoughtfully, "And Mr Curtis?"

"With Sam, it's like he's closed himself off."

"Mr Curtis is a very private man, Miss Backus. They both are, but Mr Curtis rather more so."

"No, sir," Spencer was adamant, fatigue making him snap slightly, "I'm sorry sir, but Sam really isn't himself either."

"And you think Mr Curtis may be 'taking' something, too?" asked Malone, a mixture of disbelief and concern in his voice.

"Yes, no," said Backup, frustrated. "Oh, I don't know. But something's happened to them both."

Malone leaned on steepled hands, thoughtfully, "Given the nature of this assignment, I should think something probably has." He looked up at his two exhausted agents. "Get some rest," he told them. "I expect you both back here tomorrow at 8 am sharp and your written reports on my desk by ten."

He watched Backup and Spencer haul themselves out of their seats and wearily make their way out of the office and towards the lift.

Frowning, he decided to pay Medical a visit to see how Curtis and Keel were faring for himself.

*****

Chris wriggled impatiently as the doctor finished taking out the stitches in his shoulder before redressing it. He had taken a couple of pills an hour or two earlier, just to get him through the rest of the trip and could feel them wearing off. He wanted to get back to his own apartment before he needed to take any more. He had almost depleted the small supply Ray had given him during the journey back and had promised himself that he would throw them away as soon as he got home.

But the damned doctor was taking so fucking long that he was getting impatient.

"When can I go home?" asked finally, glancing around the room. Sam was leaning back in a chair in the corner, his eyes drooping as he struggled to stay awake.

"Soon, Mr Keel," the doctor said absently as he finished off the dressing. "I just need to take some blood and s - "

Chris shook his head as impatience overtook him and he pushed the man away. "You know what? I really, really need to get some sleep. I'll come back tomorrow and you can poke and prod all you like." He grabbed his shirt and threw it on. "In fact, I have an even better idea, I'll go see my regular doctor and then you won't have to bother with me at all."

"Mr Keel - "

But Chris barely heard him as he strode out of the door, only to crash straight into Malone.

"Mr Keel," said Malone reprovingly, "I realise that you're tired, but it would help if you watched where you're going."

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," Chris replied stepping back and clasping his hands behind his back as he made an effort to stand still.

"I heard what you said, and I'd rather you have our own doctor's look you over, Mr Keel," Malone said gently.

"I know, sir, but I really just want to go home." Chris couldn't look Malone in the face and concentrated on the old man's polished shoes. "I'm fine, sir, really, I just need to get some shut-eye. I'll see my own doctor in the morning."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Malone's voice now had an edge to it that Chris couldn't define and he looked up at the chief's face.

"Yes, sir," he replied sharply, fighting the flare of angry impatience that threatened to burst out.

Malone nodded, "Very well, then. I can't force you. So long as you make sure I get a full medical report."

"Yes, sir, of course." Chris felt a surge of relief.

"How is Mr Curtis?"

Chris blinked in surprise. He actually had no idea, even though he had been in his partner's almost constant company for the best part of a day. "He's fine," he shrugged. Malone nodded, seemingly distracted and Chris made to move away, becoming increasingly desperate to leave.

"Mr Keel?"

"Sir?" Chris stopped without looking back at Malone.

"Have Mr Richards take you home. I expect you in my office at ten tomorrow morning for a full debriefing with Mr Curtis, and, as is standard, you have an appointment with the staff psychiatrist at two in the afternoon. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Chris replied through gritted teeth, and walked away calmly. As soon as he rounded the corner, he all but bolted out of the building.

*****

Sam roused himself at the doctor's insistence and wearily went to sit on the examination table that Chris had just vacated. He felt utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. He allowed the doctor to examine him, giving monosyllabic answers and hissing with pain as the physician probed his ribs and knee.

When Malone entered, Sam felt a wave of trepidation; he didn't realise how much he had been dreading the inevitable debriefing with his boss. He simply didn't know what to say.

"Mr Curtis," said the old man. "How are you feeling?"

Sam looked at him sharply. It wasn't like Malone to be so upfront with such a question. Usually, any concern was an afterthought.

"Fine, sir," he said. "A little tired."

"Yes, well, that's perfectly understandable. How's Mr Keel?"

Sam looked away without replying.

"Mr Curtis?" Malone persisted.

Sam stared at the floor, then said quietly. "It'll all be in my report, sir."

Malone looked like he was about to push further, but something seemed to change his mind. "Doctor?" Malone turned his attention the older man.

"You'll have my full report this afternoon," the physician replied non-committally, "But at this point, I would advise that both 3.7. and 4.5. have at the very least a couple of weeks to rest and recuperate."

"At least two weeks?" Malone asked in surprise, "Do they really need that long?"

"Yes, sir." The doctor rather pointedly did not elaborate and Malone resolved to question the man after he had received his report.

Malone gave Sam his instructions for the following day; a debriefing at ten and the staff psychiatrist at four and Sam simply nodded his acceptance, too tired to really care.

*****

Chris paced his apartment, beer in hand. He was completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crash for few hours or even days, but he was so jumpy that sleep was about as achievable as swimming on Mars. He took a swig from the bottle, ignoring how his trembling hand made the glass clatter against his teeth and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his other hand. He couldn't seem to get warm, despite turning the heating up.

He passed by the table, reaching for the packet of Hobnobs he had opened on getting in. To his surprise, the packet was finished, though he couldn't recall eating more than one or two. Or three or four. He screwed the plastic up threw it in the direction of the bin in frustration. It sprang back open, and floated gently to the ground not three feet in front of him. "Fuck!" he growled at the offending plastic, and kicked it away.

He stalked to the kitchen, determined to find something else that would assuage the gnawing hunger in his belly. He slammed cupboard doors open searching for something, anything, to eat. Usually he had tons of snack food, but for some reason he couldn't quite remember, he hadn't been shopping before Malone had sent them away.

The beer bottle hit the floor with a clunk and spilled the remainder of its contents when he hit his head on the corner of an open bottom cupboard. He swore at the cupboard, holding the top of his head, and kicked the cupboard door into submission. He kicked it one final time with a yell and perversely, the door simply bounced open again.

He was about to rip the thing off its hinges when he spotted a blue tin on the bottom shelf. He could feel himself drooling as he reached for it and fought with the tin opener. The thought that he really ought to cook the contents passed fleetingly. He was hungry now, not in two minutes, or however long it was the microwave took. He grabbed a spoon from the side, not bothering to check if it was clean and dug straight into the tin. Baked beans had never tasted so good.

*****

Sam lay on his sofa, staring at a newspaper without seeing the words. He had managed to get a couple of hours sleep, but his dreams had been haunted by twisted images of himself and Chris.

Memories where Chris had watched his back turned into nightmares where the American looked on and laughed while unseen tormentors shot him, beat him or worse. And each time Sam saw him himself, it seemed that he was fading away; he could see through himself as if he were no more than a ghost. He tried to touch his own image, bring himself back to the real world, but there was nothing solid to grab a hold of.

That was when he had woken up and despite trying to dismiss the dream and go back to sleep, he found that he couldn't. So he had given up, opting for another shower and sitting in the living room, catching up the news.

But as he stared blindly at the newspaper, his mind wanted to think things through and sort out the emotions that he refused to admit he was feeling. And Sam was determined to avoid doing that at all costs.

 


	3. Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curtis and Keel get thrown into a brutal prison.

Malone stared at the medical reports in front of him. Curtis' was fairly detailed in its account of the agent's injuries. Cracked ribs and a wrenched knee were the worst, with some minor abrasions and a significant amount of deep bruising throughout his body and Malone realised that two weeks would be rather less than sufficient. Curtis' blood and urine had been checked as a matter of course and they were clear of anything detrimental.

The CI5 chief had seen the look in the younger man's eyes, too, and had recognised, without having to read the recommendation in the report, that Curtis would need to work through whatever trauma had caused him to withdraw so acutely from the world. It had come home to Malone exactly how withdrawn the man was when he failed to come up with any of his usual protests against either being put on sick leave or seeing the psychiatrist.

As for Keel, he had seen the man's addiction for himself. He had not missed the unnatural flush in his agent's cheeks, the thin sheen of sweat on his brow nor the almost vibrating restlessness that inhabited his entire being, most prominently in his bright, yet glazed eyes. The medical report outlined fading bruises, days older and fewer than those Curtis sported, along with the gouge that was healing nicely. There was an oblique comment regarding Keel's apparent inability to feel the pain, and along with the same recommendation as Curtis had regarding a psychiatrist, there was another, suggesting Malone ensure that Keel get his blood and urine checked. The CI5 chief didn't need to read between the lines to know what the doctor was trying to say and was grateful for the old physician's discretion.

He needed to talk to both of his agents before deciding what action, if any, to take with either of them.

*****

Chris sat squeezed into the corner of his bathroom, trembling violently and staring at the packet of sleeping pills that normally resided on his bedside table. He had always had some on hand since the massacre for the infrequent visits from his wife or his parents in his nightmares, although he usually didn't take them even then unless he was certain that he wouldn't be called in to work.

He was thinking about the small, isolated cell that had been his home for much of his time in the prison. It made him feel safe inside. That was primarily the reason he was in the bathroom, the need for the toilet being secondary. The other rooms in his apartment were just too damned big, with too many shadows waiting to drag him into their clutches. Here it was safe, although he kept the door ajar so that he didn't feel imprisoned again, and kept an eye on it in case any shadows decided to come in after him.

He considered the sleeping pills again. They offered an escape from the cramping pains that seemed to be invading his body and the churning nausea that had relegated the Hobnobs and baked beans to the toilet. But he had promised himself that he would stop taking the pills. But then again, he hadn't taken any sleeping pills voluntarily so far, so they didn't count, did they? And the water in solitary had hardly been voluntary; it had been necessity. It was only the amphetamines that he had been forced to take voluntarily. He was sure there was a contradiction in there somewhere, but couldn't see it.

And he so desperately needed to sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept. No, that was wrong. He remembered sleeping a lot in that small, dark, damp cell. But he hadn't slept since, not really. He had been on the go for what, three days, or was it four? with only snatches of pain-filled naps. He deserved to sleep. And he had to be in some kind of reasonable state when he saw Malone in the morning.

With shaking hands he pushed one of the pills out of the packet, cursing as clumsy fingers dropped it. He scrabbled around for a few seconds until he found it and swallowed it. He waited for the cotton wool to envelope him, and grew impatient when it failed to materialise. He realised that they were different to the ones he had had in the prison and decided that they were not strong enough. He took another, sighing in relief as the cotton wool slowly came upon him.

He decided that bed would be good and with some effort made his way to the bedroom. He frowned. The cotton wool was so slow in arriving, that he thought it would wear off too fast. And he really needed a good night's sleep. So he took another for good measure. This time, the cotton wool came rushing over him. He looked at the bed and down at himself. Getting undressed and under the duvet seemed far too much like hard work, so he let himself simply collapse onto it and happily allowed the darkness take him away.

*****

It was a balmy day on the island, but Sam could spare no thought for the niceties of the place. His arm ached mercilessly where he had caught shrapnel from the mine. He had split up from Chris, who was probably getting in trouble without him to watch his back and there were two armed men trying very hard to terminate them both.

He struggled against the pain to put a fresh clip into his gun. He had just managed it when he sensed movement behind him. He turned, in his seated position, to come eyeball to snout with a semi-automatic rifle. He clenched his jaw in frustration at being caught and surrendered his weapon.

A familiar voice shouted and hope flared as he saw Chris aim his gun at the owner of the rifle. But hope turned to horror as the semi-automatic and its owner vanished and Chris turned his gun on Sam.

"See y'around, Sam!" Chris laughed, and pulled the trigger.

Sam sat up in bed, gasping. "No," he mumbled to himself as he struggled to the kitchen for some water. "That didn't happen, it wasn't like that." Well, what was it like? A little voice in his head asked. He knew what had happened, Chris had been forced to surrender his own weapon for Sam's life. Or maybe he had just given up, said the little voice. Couldn't be bothered putting himself out for you.

Sam shook his head in denial, but the little voice just didn't want to shut up.

*****

Malone studied Sam Curtis, who sat quietly on the other side of the desk. He was looking better than yesterday, cleaned up and clothed as immaculately as usual, although he still looked exhausted and Malone suspected that he had not had much sleep.

Keel had not deigned to turn up, and he had had Backup try and call him. He wasn't ready to waste resources in sending someone out to get him yet. It could simply be that the man had succumbed to exhaustion, although that wouldn't stop him from receiving a dressing down when he finally did turn up. A part of him was grateful, too. Debriefing both Keel and Curtis separately in this case could prove beneficial.

He asked Curtis to run through the case from beginning to end. Malone found himself sympathising with Backus' frustration, having to prompt the man every inch of the way.

He asked specifically about how Lamont was bearing up and was pleased to hear that he was at least getting by. Sam told him that Keel had been involuntarily and systematically drugged and Malone pressed for more details, but Curtis obviously did not have much information and he simply replied that Malone should ask Keel.

Malone sensed that there was more going on there than Curtis was revealing, but could not pinpoint exactly what; he simply didn't know what questions he should be asking. Curtis spoke of his own beatings though not in any detail, for which Malone could hardly blame him and did not press any further.

He dismissed Curtis saying, "Don't forget your four o'clock appointment with Ms Carrington."

Curtis nodded slightly and rose to leave.

"Mr Curtis, you will make that appointment, won't you?" Malone asked, on a hunch.

Curtis glanced back at him briefly before limping out of the office without answering the question.

*****

Somewhere in the distance a ringing tried to bring Chris out of his warm, safe cocoon. Abruptly it stopped and he smiled contentedly as he let himself drift off again. The ringing sound tried a couple more times, but Chris couldn't work up the energy to do anything about it. Finally, a different buzzing sound, a lot closer, dragged him unwillingly out of his cocoon.

He fumbled for his alarm clock and tried to switch it off. When that didn't work, he swept it off the side. It crashed to floor and still the buzzing didn't stop. He cracked his eyes open and tried to focus on the clock. It eventually registered that the now broken piece of plastic and wires was not responsible and he tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. He focussed on the chair and blearily made out his mobile phone. With a weary groan, he pushed himself off the bed and stumbled over to the chair, picking up the phone before slumping into it.

After two attempts he managed to locate the pickup key and put the phone to his ear.

"Chris?" It was Backup. He grunted a response and she replied, "Malone is steaming, Chris, you really need to get over here, pronto."

He grunted again and hung up. If Malone was steaming, he really didn't think he needed to go anywhere near the place. But some part of him realised that it was best to get it over and done with. He made his way into the shower and switched it on, undressing somewhat drunkenly and standing underneath the hot spray. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

He had no idea how long he stood there for, but the water was turning cold so he got out. He leaned on the wall, his limbs feeling heavy and weak. Jesus, he couldn't see Malone like this. He didn't even have the energy to get himself dressed, let alone cross town and face the beast in its lair.

He pulled his discarded trousers towards him and felt the pockets. He found the little foil packet and emptied the last of the little white pills Ray had given him for the trip home into his hand.

He really needed to get Malone out of the way. It would be just to get him through that, he told himself. Then he would stop.

*****

Sam stared at the television, flicking absently through the channels. He took another gulp of the Glenfiddich in his glass and topped it up from the three-quarters full bottle on the table. He was finding the alcohol blessedly numbing.

He was at that pleasant place where his brain had stopped thinking and he could feel the whisky tingling in his blood, but before he could genuinely declare himself drunk.

*****

Chris bounced into the CI5 headquarters feeling unbelievably chirpy. He exchanged a couple of low fives with Spencer and Richards and even paused to give a startled Backup a peck on the cheek before disappearing into Malone's office.

"Mr Keel," frowned Malone. "Close the door."

Chris closed the door and stood, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. "You wanted to see me?" he asked.

"You're late." Malone snapped.

Chris shrugged, unfazed, "Overslept, traffic, you know how it is."

"No, Mr Keel, I do not know how it is. It is now just gone four in the afternoon and I asked you to be here at ten this morning. You should also have been with Ms Carrington two hours ago."

"If I'd known it was an order, I'd have been here earlier," Chris griped, as his good mood vanished abruptly.

"Don't be cheeky, Mr Keel," Malone snapped back at him, "You know full well the importance of a full debriefing and as soon as possible after a case, as well as the importance of taking care of your own well being."

Chris rolled his eyes- Why was the old bastard on his back all the time? "Yeah, well, I didn't want to waste anyone's time; I don't remember much of the case as I'm sure Backup was only too eager to tell you and if I wanted a shrink poking round my head I'd have - "

"Mr Keel! I am getting tired of your attitude - "

"And I'm getting tired of you running my life. I never see you rattling on at Curtis or Backup or anyone else like this!"

Malone's voice became dangerously quiet, "They haven't yet given me cause to. Now I want you to go down to the medical centre - "

"You know what?" Something snapped inside Chris and the words came tumbling out before he could stop them, "I don't give a fuck what you want anymore! Screw you and screw your fucking job!" He turned on his heel and yanked the door open, slamming it behind him.

Angry tears blurred his vision and threatened to fall as he stormed through the office. Someone got in his way, tried to pull him back and he shoved them roughly away. He ignored the cries that erupted behind him and barely heard Malone's curt "Let him go." as he focussed on getting the hell out of there.

*****

Malone stood impassively as Keel disappeared into the elevator.

"Sir?" Spencer caught Malone's attention and he looked down. Backus was moaning and holding a hand to her head where she had hit the workstation. The force of Keel's shove had sent her flying.

"Get down to the medical centre, Miss Backus," Malone told her distractedly.

Backup nodded gingerly, before picking herself up.

*****

Sam continued to stare at the television with the sound off. The bottle on the table was well over half empty now and Sam had achieved the numbness he sought throughout his body. But his mind had switched from unresponsive to overactive, forcing him to think about the things he was trying so very hard to avoid.

He and Chris had barely exchanged two words since the prison and as time went on, he could visualise the gulf between them growing ever wider. He dreaded talking with Chris a little more with each minute, hour that went by. He didn't know what he would say.

He knew that he would be calm, pleasant even to start with. But the new barriers within him that protected and hid his shattered sense of trust and friendship were untested against the enemy they were built to repel. And he didn't think he would survive if they should fail.

Sam staggered to the bathroom to see to a call of nature. As he washed his hands afterwards, he caught sight of the small bottle of painkillers sitting on the shelf that he had been prescribed for his ribs.

He dried his hands and picked them up, staring at them for a little while. He imagined himself losing control and treading the same path as Chris and tasted bile on his tongue at the mere thought. Carefully and deliberately, he emptied the bottle into the toilet.

The telephone rang, and Sam went to answer it. Tripping over a rug, he didn't make it before the answering machine picked it up. He listened to Malone ranting on about missed psyche sessions and rolled his eyes. He had no intention of seeing the staff psychiatrist until he was ready. Until he could look her in the eye and tell her that nothing was wrong. And believe it himself.

The message finished and Sam rubbed at his eyes. It was barely five in the afternoon, but the sedative properties of the whisky were making themselves known. He climbed wearily into bed, and for the first time in days, slept peacefully.

*****

Chris didn't stop moving, didn't pause long enough to think until he was inside his apartment. But as soon as he shut the door, he collapsed against it, breathing hard. Fractured thoughts and images whirled through his head and he couldn't make sense of any of them.

Frustration and anger were building within him, threatening to make him burst. He pushed off from the door and scooped up a lamp, throwing it against the wall in a bid to release some of the tension within him. The sound of breaking pottery released some of the anger, sending euphoric adrenaline through him.

He picked up an empty beer bottle, sending it the way of the lamp and he laughed as it smashed into tiny fragments and a little more anger was released. He looked for something else to throw, but a thumping on his door distracted him.

"Chris? Are you all right? Keel, answer me!"

Shit! That was Spencer's voice. What the hell did he want? He went to front door and took several deep breaths.

He could do this.

He opened the door.

"Chris!" There was a look of relief on Spencer's face, "I was worried, I thought I heard-"

"It was nothing," Chris gave the other man a chagrined smile. "Just dropped a bottle."

"So, can I come in?" Spencer looked a little uncertain.

"Um, I'm a bit, uh, busy right now..." Just go away, please go away.

"I need to talk with you, Chris. Please?" Spencer asked, "Tina took a bit of a knock - "

Chris stared at him for a moment, not listening and unable to think of anything to say that would make the man go away. In the end, he closed his eyes and took yet another deep breath, pushing the anger and frustration away. "Look, I'm really not up to talking about anything right now. Please, just leave me alone. If you want to come round tomorrow, then that's cool, okay?"

Spencer nodded reluctantly; disappointment clear on his face and Chris gratefully closed, and locked the door.

*****

The following day, Chris sat in the waiting room at his private physician's practice. It had taken everything he had to get up and dressed and make his way over here. He had taken the rest of his sleeping pills the night before when he had begun feeling ill, but this morning he couldn't seem to wake up properly again. He had quite happily stayed in bed, but as the chills and nausea had begun to assault him he had willed himself to get up to come and see his doctor. He needed his sleeping pill prescription renewed and maybe he could get something done about the other stuff.

The door opened and he shuffled in.

Half an hour later, he bounced back out and gave the receptionist his credit card. He knew he was paying well over the odds for his two fresh prescriptions, but at that moment, he didn't care.

While in the doctor's office, he had realised that it had been naïve of him to think he could just stop taking the pills at the drop of a hat and had agreed with the old quack that taking it slowly was the best way. Keep the pills around and just take them when you really need them, was what the doc had said, you can always come back for more. That was right before he had explained to Chris that the cost would be rather higher than was usual and had given him just a single tablet right then to see him through.

After Chris had picked up his prescriptions and taken them home, he found that he was bored. He considered going into work, but changed his mind. Malone was probably still steaming and he couldn't cope with that again. His thoughts flitted over to Sam and he smiled.

He hadn't seen or even thought about his partner in a couple of days and he wondered how he was doing. Maybe the Englishman would like to go to the pub. Convinced that he had a plan, he made his way over to his partner's apartment. On the drive over, he noticed his hands trembling and felt the chills start to creep on again.

He fumbled in his pocket and without thinking too much about it, swallowed another pill. Just to keep him going until he got back home.

*****

When Sam opened the door, Chris grinned at him brightly and pushed past the unresisting Englishman into his living room.

"How d'you fancy going down the pub?" he asked cheerfully, turning round to talk to his partner.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Sam was looking at him stonily, almost accusingly and Chris felt defensive.

"Hey, lighten up," he said, randomly picking up newspapers and magazines, and glancing at them before throwing them carelessly back down. "I just thought it would do us both good to get out, you know? Have some fun."

"Fun," Sam repeated distantly. He didn't move from his spot inside the entrance to his living room. "No, thank you, Chris, I'm not interested in your kind of 'fun'."

Chris ignored the bitter undertone in Sam's voice and moved into the kitchen, poking his head into the fridge to see if there was anything interesting in there. "What do you mean by that?" he asked petulantly. "Got any peanut butter?"

Sam trailed after him and took Chris by surprise when he slammed the fridge door shut narrowly missing trapping the American's fingers.

"Hey! Watch what you're doing!" exclaimed Chris. He paused when he saw Sam's still stony expression and then shrugged. "Wasn't hungry anyway," he muttered, wandering back into the living room to rifle through his partner's CD collection.

"Chris."

"Yeah?" Chris acknowledged Sam, but wasn't really listening. He stumbled backwards slightly when the Englishman pulled him round and he shook Sam's hand away.

"Chris," began Sam again, putting himself close to his partner, ensuring that he had the American's attention. "I want you to get out," he said calmly and slowly.

"What? B-but - " Chris stuttered, confused.

"I want you to get out of my flat and I don't want you coming here any more." When Sam had said his piece, he backed away and Chris looked anywhere but at the Englishman as he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

"I don't, I don't understand, Sam, I thought you were my friend..." he said in a small, confused voice.

"No, Chris," Sam replied in that same slow, calm tone. "I'm not your friend and I don't want to be. We work together. That's as far as it goes. As far as it will ever go, even assuming Malone lets you back onto the squad."

A range of emotions surged through Chris. He understood the words, but couldn't understand what Sam was saying. He stuttered ineffectually, his mind stalled.

"Take a look at yourself, Chris," Sam said, a hint of sadness tingeing his words. "You have a problem and you need help."

Anger rushed suddenly through Chris and his temper exploded without warning. "I do not have a problem!" he shouted, stalking Sam who retreated, still expressionless. The anger dissipated as abruptly as it had arrived, to be replaced with defensive justification. "I mean, I had a problem," he said more calmly, though still forcefully, "It wasn't my fault, though. It's just a bit more difficult than I thought to come off them, but I've seen my doctor and he's given me some stuff to help and it's gonna take a little time, but it's all under control, you see? I don't have a problem anymore." Chris gave Sam his best puppy-dog look.

The Englishman said nothing and Chris gave up in frustration. He snatched his car-keys out of his pocket, not noticing as his wallet fell to the floor, and stalked out of the flat, dismissing Sam with a wave of his hand, "Screw you, Curtis!" he called back forcefully and slammed the door behind him.

Determinedly, he got back into his car and went to find a lively pub where he could happily get legless.

He didn't get far before he realised that he'd lost his wallet and there was no way in hell he was going back to Sam's.

*****

Sam could have cried with relief. He had met the enemy, said what he had wanted to say and his barriers had held. It could only get easier from now on.

So why did it still hurt?

*****

Backup decided to go and see how Chris and Sam were doing after work. There was something brewing in CI5, and she did not know when she would next be able to see either of them.

Spencer had already been round to Chris' today on her behalf, although without her prior knowledge, and found that he either wasn't in or wasn't answering. Backup had asked Spencer what the hell he thought he had been doing and told him that a) she was quite capable of taking a piece out of Keel herself and that b) she had every intention of doing so once he had sorted himself out. Spencer had replied softly that he had only gone to tell Chris what he had done, as he didn't think the American had realised, in the hopes of snapping him out it.

Boy, did she feel bad for yelling at the guy. Sweet, sensitive Spencer had only been trying to help.

When she called at Chris', he still wasn't answering, so she went on to Sam's place and found him home, alone and very drunk.

"What do you want, Backup?" he asked flatly.

"Just a friendly visit," she replied cheerily.

"I'm not really up for friendly visits at the moment," Sam replied. "Sorry. Why don't you pay Chris a call; he was looking for someone to go and have fun with earlier. You can give him this back." He reached behind the door and produced a black leather wallet.

Backup noticed the faintly bitter undertone amidst his currently unusual verbosity and considered forcing the issue. But with a bottle of scotch down him, or at least that's what it smelt like, Sam probably wasn't going to be receptive.

She made a disappointed face. "You can give it to him yourself," she said, before spinning on her heel and leaving him to his misery. As she reached her car, her mobile rang; it was Malone, demanding her presence back the CI5 Headquarters.

Sam watched Backup walk away and felt a wrench that he instantly quashed. Being alone was such hard work.

*****

Malone still didn't know what he was going to do about Curtis and Keel. Personally, he was of the opinion that locking them both up in a cell for few days would be the best thing for them, with or without their co-operation, and he might well have done it if they hadn't just spent three weeks in prison. Instead, he had sent a full report to Ms Carrington, the staff psychiatrist and awaited her recommendations.

Unfortunately, when Ms Carrington tried to contact Malone, he was no longer in the office. What had been a minor issue in Oman had turned into a full-scale crisis. He had taken a full team out there, including Richards and Spencer, while Backus manned the fort in London with just a skeleton staff.

*****

That evening, Sam decided that he was sober enough to take the walk to Chris' flat and pop the wallet through the letterbox. He could do with the fresh air, and it wasn't too far away.

It took him around twenty minutes to get there, and hesitated before approaching his partner's door. Clamping down on the dread that tried to sweep through him, he went to push the thick leather through the letterbox and was surprised when the door swung open of it's own accord.

"Chris?" he called. He received no response and as a precaution, un-holstered his gun and held it ready.

He crept through the flat silently, the only sound that of gently running water. Constantly scanning for any sign of trouble, Sam made his way towards the noise that seemed to emanate from the bathroom.

The light was on and the door was ajar far enough to see Chris leaning heavily on the sink. He watched in disgust as his partner swallowed two pills. In the mirror he could see the haunted self-loathing that filled his partner's countenance, and for the first time, hairline cracks appeared in the barriers around his soul.

As if sensing him, Chris looked up sharply and saw him reflected in the mirror. They stared at each other through the glass for an instant that stretched into eternity.

Then Chris spun round with an expression of guilt mixed with fear. "I c-can't sleep," he explained, his tone pleading.

Sam simply continued to stare at him, unable to put into words what he so desperately wanted to say. He knew that he needed to say something, anything to start building a bridge across the chasm between them. But to do that, he needed to take down the barriers and that was something that he was prepared to do.

He could only stand back helplessly when Chris lowered his head and bolted past him. He felt the tremors the wracked his partner's body as he brushed past him, and listened to the stumbling footsteps as they ran down the stairs.

The little voice started knocking on Sam's consciousness again and he came alive with a growl, shutting it away. He quickly holstered his gun and followed Chris outside. He heard an engine start up as he stormed semi-drunkenly down the stairs but by the time he hit the pavement, Chris' car was nowhere to be seen.

He called into HQ, intending to have someone track the car on the satellite, but Backup answered, sounding stressed. She told him no uncertain terms, before hanging up, that he and Chris would have to look after themselves for a while, because she was too damned busy trying to keep Malone and the rest of the team alive.

Sam stared at his mobile for moment before putting it away, locking Chris' flat up and taking himself off home. It never occurred to him that once upon a time he would have taken himself off to the CI5 offices and used the satellite himself, not to mention made every attempt to assist Backup.

*****

How Chris got out of London without causing an accident or being stopped by police was anybody's guess. Perhaps the lack of traffic in the area at that hour helped and maybe the police were focussing their attention elsewhere. Whatever the reason, Chris struggled to keep his eyes focussed on the road and the car in its lane, grateful that the sleeping pills were keeping his thoughts and feelings wrapped in a fuzzy blanket.

It didn't take long before he was through the suburbs and out into the country. It wasn't long after, that the car ran out of gas and he coasted to a stop by the side of a quiet country road where Chris gratefully gave in to the cotton wool numbness.

*****

Sam was back on the island again. He was growing used to the way this played out, now, but this time he sensed something different. As he surrendered his gun to the man with the semi-automatic, he realised what it was; he wasn't fading away.

Chris' voice came as usual and the familiar hope flared, turning to horror once more as his partner turned his gun on him. But the horror was abstract this time, and he found himself feeling only pity for his partner.

Sam waited for the expected wild laughter from Chris, but it never came. Instead, his partner's face became filled with the haunted self-loathing Sam had seen earlier and the American turned his gun on himself. Sam tried to leap the impossible distance between them, but the explosion of the gun told him that he was too late.

Sam woke up, breathing hard and confused, emotions running wild, escaping through the fissures in his barriers.

*****

When Chris came to, late the following morning, he was dazed and confused. He fumbled around, feeling his pockets and to his relief found a couple of tabs, loose in a pocket. He couldn't remember what they were, but swallowed them anyway. He failed to suppress his laughter when the warm, familiar rush of the amphetamines swept away the confusion and he could think again.

It didn't take him long to realise that he had neither his mobile nor his wallet with him. But he knew more or less where he was, ten, maybe fifteen miles from home and decided to hitchhike back.

*****

Backup slammed the phone down in irritation. The call had been from the Met, informing her that Keel's car had been found abandoned with the keys and his CI5 ID still in it. They had not been able to get through to him at home and, knowing who CI5 were, had thought it best to call them.

But Backup did not have the time or the resources to do anything about it. She had every member of staff working on the Oman case. Right now, with Malone and half of his team pinned down by enemy fire, Richards having vanished off the face of the earth and the rest of the team including Spencer mounting an assault on a security military installation, she could do nothing about Keel having lost his car.

She scribbled herself a memo to do something about it later and promptly put it to the back of her mind.

*****

Sam spent most of the day trying to reinforce his crumbling barriers with the help of a bottle of Glenfiddich. He didn't want to be worried about Chris, but he couldn't help it. The bastard had a frustrating ability to find even the smallest chinks in his armour and wriggle through.

He still had the bitter vision of Chris laughing at him, but it was shadowed now by the image of his partner putting the gun to his own head.

Despite himself, he rang the American's flat and mobile every couple of hours with no success. Eventually, he decided that he ought to do something, and after a liquid lunch called a cab to take him over to Chris' place.

The flat was just as he'd left it, so he had the cabbie drive around on the off-chance that he might just spot Chris or his car. He gave up after an hour or so, and returned to his own flat, paying out an exorbitant fee to the happy taxi-driver.

As he let himself in, he considered calling Backup once more, but decided that he wasn't worried enough to get his head bitten off again. At least, he tried not to be. He decided to give Chris until morning; that would be well over twenty-four hours and if nothing else, he could be listed as a missing person.

*****

Chris leaned against the lamppost outside his apartment in the pouring rain, cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. The sky had turned a heavy grey during the afternoon, and the rain had begun a couple of hours before, reflecting his mood. He was exhausted but couldn't face going back inside, even though he knew that a couple of those little white pills that waited in his bathroom would put him right. Well, there was that and the fact that he'd lost his keys somewhere.

He was haunted by the disgust and pity in Sam's face when he had seen him in the bathroom. He didn't know what he wanted to do. Despite the part of him that craved the lift, clarity and numbing of pain the amphetamines gave him, he wanted out, but he wasn't strong enough. He wanted help, but he didn't want anyone to see him like this.

But then again, Sam already had.

*****

Sam listened to the storm raging outside, the thunder and lightening almost on top with heavy rain lashing at the windows. It took a while before he realised that some of the thunder was a frantic knocking on his door.

Cautiously, he rolled off his sofa and went to open the door. Chris was there, hunched over, soaked, shivering and miserable.

Hesitantly, Sam stepped back, the invitation to come in, implicit.

Chris moved just inside, looking at the floor as Sam closed the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked distantly, already knowing that his partner was far from okay.

Chris nodded, still looking at the floor and opened his mouth to say something, but only a strangled moan came out and he bolted for the bathroom.

Sam followed slowly and waited outside until the sound of retching had stopped. He pushed the door open slowly to find Chris hauling himself off the floor to the sink and putting his head under the cold tap.

Although Sam couldn't feel the compassion to help his partner, neither did he any longer have the heart to throw him out, though the invasion of his space grated on his nerves. So he left a jug of water with a glass and some towels in the bathroom and took himself off to his sofa to flick through channels and listen to the strangled noises coming from his bathroom.

Since returning home that afternoon, Sam had only had a couple of drinks and he now reached for the bottle to top up. But a particularly violent retching came from the bathroom, making him wince in involuntary sympathy, and reluctantly Sam put the bottle away, opting to get up and make himself some coffee.

With the intake of caffeine, came the ring of the telephone. It was Backup, sounding tired and stressed.

"Sam, have you seen Chris today?" she asked.

"He's here, why?" Sam replied, glancing towards the now silent bathroom. He could hear Backup sigh with relief.

"Police found his car this morning, abandoned just off the Howden road. I couldn't get hold of him."

"Oh. Well he's here now, but he can't stay, though," he told her over the phone. "He needs a hospital or something - " He broke off as Chris came stumbling into the lounge.

"No, no hospitals," Chris mumbled, shaking his head. "I'll go..." He picked up his jacket and tried to pull it on.

"Okay, no hospitals," Sam sighed and listened to Backup telling him that she would be right over. He put the phone down and in three halting strides made it over to where Chris was still struggling with the jacket. He took the jacket away and wordlessly escorted Chris back into the bathroom.

Backup finally arrived looking exhausted and Sam tried to get her to sit down and have some coffee before doing anything, but she refused.

"If I stop now, Sam, I'm not going to get started again. Listen, there's still a crisis at headquarters, but it's quiet for the moment so I'm just taking a break. I want to get you and Chris sorted out, then I'm going home for a couple of hours sleep."

Sam nodded wordlessly, concern for the tired Canadian woman surging up from nowhere. Whatever mess he and Chris got into, she was always there and at this moment, Sam thought he had never been so grateful.

*****

Backup dumped her bag and took off her jacket before going into the bathroom. She tried to talk to Chris where Sam had not been able to bring himself to. Backup crouched down in front of Chris with a wry smile as Sam brought her a cup of coffee before retreating to stand at the edge of the doorway.

She took in the American's bedraggled appearance, the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, the violent tremors and rapid breathing as if he had just been running. She touched his arm and he flinched away, jaw clenching and unclenching as his eyes roved blindly around the room.

"Chris, you need help," she told him. "Professional help. Let us take you to a hospital."

Chris shook his head, "No," he ground out from between clenched teeth, "I can do this, I can do it myself. Don't need... don't want anyone else. Didn't want you."

"Chris, I - " But Chris didn't seem to hear her as he was concentrating so hard on his words.

"No. I want, I need to prove that I'm strong enough, that I can do it."

"You don't need to prove anything," Backup told him. "We already know how strong you are, but this is too much for anyone."

His gaze moved sluggishly over to her, "Need to prove it to myself, to prove it to him." He indicated Sam with a shake of his head.

Backup sighed and contemplated her coffee as Chris gazed at her with pain-filled, pleading eyes. She really wasn't sure that this was a good idea. Sam was in no state to look after him, and she had to backup Malone's team who were still deeply involved in Oman. The situation had gotten sticky when Richards had reappeared in the enemy's hands, but he seemed to bearing up all right according to Spencer. But she could not, and would not abandon her friends simply because she hadn't got the time or energy.

"Okay," she said finally, "we'll do it your way for the time being. But Sam's exhausted too, so he can't look after you - "

"Don't need looking after!" Chris protested, even as he doubled over in pain.

"Bad choice of words," Backup said reaching out again. This time he didn't flinch away, although she wasn't entirely sure that he knew she was there. "But you can't stay here, we need to get you back to your place." She was grateful when the American nodded and she felt a sense of relief from Sam.

"Okay, you hold on here while we get some blankets and I'll bring the car round to the front door."

She pushed Sam outside the bathroom and pulled him away, into the lounge. "One of us needs to be with him all the time," she said. "Twenty four hours a day."

Backup watched Sam wrestling with doubt, bitterness and just the tiniest glimpse of hope. "Do you think it's worth the trouble?" he asked softly.

Backup chose her words carefully, trying to reach through the stone barriers so obviously trying to hold together in his eyes. "I don't think there can be any doubt that he wants to stop," she said. "But it's not as easy as all that, as I think he's already found out. We need to be around to remind him that it'll be worth the pain he has to go through. No matter what he says, he can't do it by himself, no one could. He needs us to help him be strong. And if we don't think he's worth the trouble, then how can he think he's worth it?"

Sudden fear crossed Sam's face as she finished, and Backup made a mental note that she had touched on a nerve and resolved to figure it out later.

*****

Backup stayed with Chris at his apartment for the rest of the night. He had initially objected when she had told him that someone would be with him constantly, muttering something about the world and his wife coming for a good look. But he was soon in too much pain to really care.

She had taken the precaution of clearing any drugs she could find from the apartment and giving them to Sam to dispose of.

Sam came round early in the morning and Backup left for work, thinking ironically that after only snatching short naps, she was going to need something to get her through the day. She settled on caffeine.

Over the next couple of days, Chris spent most of the time huddled next to the toilet, shivering and sweating at the same time, alternately vomiting convulsively and moaning with his hands pressed tightly to his head. Or when exhaustion overtook him, he curled up on the sofa, sleeping restlessly until the need for the bathroom overtook him again.

Sam spent the time cleaning up after Chris. A part of him, the part that was angry and in pain, told him that Chris deserved every second of his agony. The more rational part tried to deny that; Chris was as much a victim as he was. He was being torn apart and found it increasingly difficult to deal with when the object of his internal conflict was so desperately in need of his help in front of him.

*****

Chris woke up to daylight streaming through the curtains. He couldn't remember going to bed and still felt exhausted, but his mind seemed clearer than it had been in a long time.

The smell of eggs and mushrooms wafted into the bedroom and his stomach gurgled with hunger. His mouth and throat felt like sandpaper, so despite the lethargy that assaulted his limbs, he hauled himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweats and followed the aroma through to the kitchen.

Sam was in there, making omelettes, and any surprise he might have had at his partner's presence was overwhelmingly outweighed by the rush of saliva and hunger.

"Feeling better?" asked Sam coolly.

"Mmm, hungry though."

"I'm not surprised. Be ready in a couple of minutes."

Chris grunted; he couldn't wait that long and opened a cupboard, looking for something to munch. Someone had obviously been shopping and he grabbed a large bag of crisps and a cola, retiring to the sofa.

Sam brought out two plates of omelettes, and Chris paused in his demolition of the crisps long enough to wolf down the eggs and mushrooms. The heat of the food made him shiver as he realised how cold he was and went to turn up the heating. Sam followed him and turned it back down.

"It's sweltering in here as it is," the Englishman said.

"I'm cold," Chris muttered petulantly, wiping sweat from his face.

"Then put some more clothes on," Sam was wholly unsympathetic.

"It's my apartment, you can leave if you don't like it." Chris turned the heating back up.

Sam promptly turned it back down again. "Believe me, it's no fun being here. But I agreed to -"

"I didn't ask - " Chris began petulantly.

"Listen to me!" Sam interrupted forcefully, "I agreed to be here, to help make sure you don't poison yourself with any more - "

"Like you can talk! You're as bad, knocking back the whisky." He pointed at the almost empty bottle on the table. "How many of those have you been through since you've been here?"

"That's not the same. That's alcohol. You can't possible compare - " Sam was suddenly defensive.

"Oh, no? It's a toxin, it's addictive, it makes you sick and it changes you. You're a miserable enough bastard these days - " Chris' eyes flashed with anger; he was on the attack.

"I'm surprised you noticed." Sam replied bitterly.

Chris opened his mouth to reply, but paused, looking at Sam properly for the first time. "I didn't," he said softly, suddenly guilty as he took in his partner's glacial expression that never changed and the dark circles under his eyes. "Backup said it, and you know what? She's right." He had been so self-involved, he hadn't spared so much as a thought for his partner.

The telephone started to ring and they both stared at it. Chris decided to ignore it and returned to the sofa, giving in to the shivering that continually tried to assault him.

Sam answered it and when he hung up, said to Chris, "Malone's on his way over. He wants to talk to us both."

Chris' head shot up, eyes wild, "No, oh no, I can't let him see me like this. Especially not after..." he trailed off as he thought about his explosive exit from Malone's office. He didn't remember a whole lot, but the part where he had told Malone where to get off was vivid.

"Well, he's on his way over now," said Sam bluntly, "So get used to it."

Chris slid off the sofa and headed for the bathroom, for the little bottle that normally had taken up residence on the shelf. It wasn't there. With a burst of energy, he tore through the rest of the little room.

"Looking for something?" asked Sam from the doorway.

"N-no," the over-excitement was making Chris shake harder and his stomach was beginning to churn again. "I just need something to get me through this," he mumbled, "It's gotta be here somewhere..."

"We got rid of them," Sam told him. "While you spent last couple of days puking up and delirious, Backup and I went through your entire flat and got rid of everything we could find. Right down to the paracetamol."

Chris turned to him with wild anger, "You did what? You had no right!"

"You're wrong." Sam replied, determined. "The minute you turned up at my place and crawled into the toilet, determined to give them up, despite the pain you were feeling, you gave me the right. And I have not spent the last couple of days cleaning up your spit and vomit, just so that you could go right back to square one at the first hurdle. Deal with it."

Chris was torn between flinging himself at Sam and demanding he give them back, or just bolting out of the flat, away from what was proving to be too hard. But Sam was in his way and he couldn't find the energy to fight him anyway. Couldn't find the energy to stand up anymore, either. So he sank to the floor. "What do you want from me?" he asked tiredly. "Why are you going to all this trouble when even I can see that you really don't want to be here, without you having to tell me. Just leave me alone, let me rot, it's what you want to do. It's what I want you to do."

Sam crouched down in front of him, "Chris," he said, "Chris, look at me."

The American reluctantly raised his head, and saw the naked truth in Sam's pain-filled eyes.

"Chris, there's only one thing I want. I want my partner back."

*****

Sam lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Malone had come and gone, highly pissed off because he had returned from Oman with a broken arm and the Minister had had the gall to force him into a couple of days sick leave. Not only that, but Spencer, Richards and a couple of other good operatives were in the hospital with relatively minor wounds.

The CI5 chief had not really had anything to say and Sam had the impression that whatever he had been going to say, something had changed the old man's mind. Although he did say that he expected both Curtis and Keel to turn up at Ms Carrington's office the following week. Chris had meekly agreed but Sam had been non-committal.

Chris had behaved himself, which probably had something to do with it. The American had curled up in the armchair and simply looked like he had the flu or something, mostly keeping quiet except for one sudden bolt to the bathroom. He had visibly sagged with relief when Malone had left and had slept since.

Malone had taken it all in his stride and in a surprising show of diplomacy did not mention Chris' abrupt departure from CI5 headquarters. Sam, of course, had heard all the details of that particular escapade from Backup in all their spectacular glory. Mind you, he couldn't really blame her for being pissed at Chris; she still had the bruise to show for it.

Sam rubbed his hands over his face. He was so tired. He was spending most of his time at Chris' flat, going home for just a few hours while Backup stayed with him in the evenings. But he slept when Chris slept, and that was a lot of the time, now, so he wasn't really suffering in that respect. But his barriers were cracking and it was becoming too hard to keep trying to plug the holes.

After Chris' stinging words earlier, Sam had thrown the whisky bottle away in a bid to prove the American wrong. And now he was regretting it. He had nothing to numb the pain, and the images that he did not want to think about still whirled through his mind.

He was thinking about nipping down to the off-licence when a soul-wrenching cry came from the bedroom. Sam bolted through and found Chris kneeling up on the bed looking as though his heart had been ripped out.

"Chris, you all right, mate?" he asked before he even thought about it.

The American nodded, rubbing his arms. "Why am I still here, Sam?"

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why am I still alive?" Chris took a deep breath. "I mean my entire family, including my wife were wiped out in two minutes flat. I was there and I'm still alive. In the SEALs, there were missions where half the team didn't make it, but I always did. Here, in CI5, no matter how much I try, I see others dying, but not me. I get in enough trouble, but somehow I always make it. Why?"

Sam didn't like where this was going. He studied his partner closely. The American's eyes were clear for the first time in weeks, if filled with an intense sadness.

"I don't know, Chris," he said slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I ask myself the same question every day. And I come up with the same answers. That I'm - that we're survivors. That we look out for each other when one of us does something stupid. But I don't know that anymore. I-" Sam glanced at Chris, who was watching him carefully and resolved to say the words that he had been trying to hide behind the stone barriers. "I trusted you to look out for me, the way I look out for you." A sudden realisation hit Sam. "The way I used to look out for you."

"And you don't trust me to do that anymore..." whispered Chris, leaning back against the wall.

Sam shook his head. "I did, and I hope, I really do pray, that I will be able to again one day, but you stood by and laughed while Ray beat the crap out of me, and I can't forget that," he said bitterly. Glancing at Chris, he saw that the other man was shrinking back, the same self-loathing sweeping over his features that haunted Sam's nightmares, and abruptly Sam recalled the image of Chris with his own gun to his head. He continued softly, "I've just realised something. I've only just realised that I didn't look out for you either. I knew what was happening to you, but I refused to see it and when I did see it, I should have stopped it." He smiled humourlessly, "And you know what makes it worse? I don't even have your excuse of being doped up to the eyeballs."

Chris face was a picture of conflicting emotions; disbelief and shock being the most prominent.

"Sam, I - " He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sam, I honestly don't remember a lot of what happened in there. I remember Ray beating someone up. I remember having a fight with someone that could have been Alvin or it could have been you, I don't know, and I don't know how much of what I do remember is real. I'm really very sorry if I hurt you, but you have to know that I would never intentionally or wilfully do that."

Sam could hear the deep sincerity in his partner's voice and winced as the almost ingrained sense of betrayal was abruptly replaced by burning shame and guilt. He said nothing as Chris continued, sincerity replaced by disbelief.

"And what do you think you could have done to help me? There was nothing, absolutely nothing you could have done that wouldn't have blown our cover wide open. And if you'd done that, neither of us would have got out of there alive. Shit, I'm just grateful that, through all this, you've stuck by me - "

"But I didn't!" Sam protested, "I pushed you away when you needed - "

"- a kick up the backside, Sam," Chris interrupted. "It was exactly what I needed. And you've stuck with me even though you've had your own problems. I've been so wrapped up in myself that I didn't see that you were hurt in there, too. You're right, I haven't been looking out for you and I wouldn't blame you if you never trusted me again. But don't shut yourself away from everyone just because you're pissed at me. And don't look at me like that, I know you've been trying to push everyone away because Backup told me."

Sam felt his barriers come crashing down and suddenly felt a deep urge to cry. He sniffed and leaned his head back, blinking away tears that were threatening to escape. When he had composed himself, he let out a small laugh.

"That woman has a lot to answer for."

"Don't be too hard on her, Curtis, I think she only said it because she's pissed at me," Chris grinned then turned his smile upside down. "Everyone's pissed at me."

"That's normal, isn't it?" Sam smiled. "You piss everyone else off and I take the flak. Besides, I think Backup is still out to get you for giving her that lump on her head." Sam laughed at Chris' wide-eyed expression. "You don't remember that? On the way out of Headquarters that time, she said you threw her into table."

"I did?" Chris looked rueful. "Wish I'd been around to see that," he grinned and Sam laughed with him.

*****

Sam waited outside Ms Carrington's office, nervous. He had no idea what he was going to say to the woman. His emotions were still in turmoil and although he had sorted some things out with Chris, there was still a lot he needed work his way through. At the moment he didn't know if he ever would sort through them. He still had the nightmares and couldn't face Chris at all the morning after he had them, but their intensity was slowly fading.

Chris was on well on the road to recovery although he still had a long way to go, and Sam found himself enjoying seeing Chris, watching his natural energy and bounce slowly returning as each day passed. But to Sam, the most important thing was that he could count the American as a friend again.

The door to Ms Carrington's office open and Chris came quietly out.

"How did it go?" Sam asked worriedly.

Chris pulled a face, "Gruesome. You ready?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Yes," he said determinedly. "I'm ready."

*****

Epilogue

Sam threw himself over the packing cases in an attempt to avoid the spray of bullets. He landed badly and felt a sharp stab of pain as his ankle twisted, sending him to the ground in agony. The sound of squealing tyres made him look up and he saw the car heading straight for him. There was no way he could get out of the way in time.

He started to roll, a long shot at best, and caught sight of a familiar dark figure leaping between himself and the car, gun blazing. A couple of shots came from the car, but his saviour stood his ground. The car swerved away, disappearing into the darkness.

"You okay?" asked Chris, helping him while scanning the area for further threat.

"You idiot!" said Sam, but without any real feeling, "You could have been killed. If the car hadn't got you, the bullets could've."

"Well, it didn't and they didn't and you were worth the risk." He paused and then asked softly. "We okay?"

Sam smiled broadly, eyes twinkling. "We're okay," he nodded. "But there was never any real doubt, was there?" Chris only replied with his own broad grin, a slap on the Englishman's shoulder and helped Sam to his feet.

It was more than enough.

FINIS


End file.
